


The Less I Know The Better

by clearskiies



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: AH - Freeform, BAD BOY JOHNNY HEHE, Bullying, But also not, Everyone Needs A Hug, Internalized Homophobia, John Needs A Hug, M/M, MMMMM TENSION, Multi, PAUL DESERVES BETTER AND SO DOES JOHN, Period-Typical Homophobia, feel the Tension, george martin is done with their shit, i will try my best to update regularly :( pls dont be mad, idk where im going with these tags anymore, john is actually a softie but SHUT UP NO ONE CAN KNOW, kinda angsty a little? maybe? yeah a bit but not crazy, like. basically i tried to make one of those like bad boy fics but do a little twist on it, ok time to Shut Up, paul is a total stubborn bitch, paul is an elusive bitch and john is Enraptured, paul needs a hug :(, ringo is also done with their shit, they Really Hate Each Other A Lot (but not really. but yea they do), they bicker like a married couple
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:27:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 140,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25114627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clearskiies/pseuds/clearskiies
Summary: In which mischievous teddy boy John Lennon attends Quarrybank Music Academy with his best friend Ringo Starr. Everything was just fine in his life; until a certain pretty boy by the name of Paul McCartney arrived at the school on a scholarship with a quiet but blunt George Harrison. John would make a mess of things and screw around in class, never taking anything seriously - Paul would be bossy, sticking to the rules to a tee, wanting everything his way and his way alone. From the start, they hated each other with a passion; but when they were forced to partner up and make a song together, things had to change. ( Set in the 1950's )[ SPOTIFY PLAYLIST ] - https://open.spotify.com/playlist/34x2d4t8v1KQPLeQUDUAzo?si=BzcN_enzSkq-stGBCf6nNgor ' The Less I Know The Better ; ' under the name galaxxygbg6
Relationships: Astrid Kirchherr/Stuart Sutcliffe, Cynthia Lennon/John Lennon, George Harrison & John Lennon, George Harrison & John Lennon & Paul McCartney & Ringo Starr, George Harrison & Paul McCartney, George Harrison/Ringo Starr, Jane Asher/Paul McCartney (mentioned), John Lennon/Paul McCartney, John Lennon/Stuart Sutcliffe (Mentioned), Paul McCartney & Ringo Starr, brian epstein/george martin (mentioned), john lennon/ringo starr (mentioned), just a lot of Brief Mentions, this is mainly mclennon tho there wont be much focus on other relationships
Comments: 234
Kudos: 242





	1. 1 ;; the new kid

The day started out normally for John Lennon - or - as normal as his days could get, really.

First off; wake up.  
Gigantic, pounding hangover from getting blazed the night before.  
Find out that he slept in.  
And also that it was the first day back at school (the new year!).  
As well, Ringo was probably waiting at their meetup spot, wondering where the fuck he was.  
Grab his guitar and shove it into its case.  
Get a kick up the arse from Mimi before booking it to his (un)desired location. 

So that was where he was now. Desperately trying to pull on his scuffed school shoes, abandoning his attempt at tying the frayed shoelaces as he sped down the dreary cobblestone streets of Liverpool, untucked shirt flapping in the crisp wind, guitar case strapped to his back; it was nearing the end of summer, leaves on trees turning honeyed browns and cherry reds, the baby blue sky above blotted out with greyish clouds. The sun still managed to seep its way through the gaps, though, sending warm patches of light onto the city below.  
The suburbs around him were alive with people, swarming about, making their daily commute to their workplaces, just like every other day. Even though he was late to school, people were still going off to whatever job they had. He not-so-expertly dodged through the crowds surrounding him, bumping into others many times as he went, angered calls being thrown after him; but it never affected him, of course, John never being a person who was particularly bothered at what strangers thought of him.

As he rounded a street corner, the boy collided with a young woman, almost sending her supermarket shopping on a trip to the ground below. The woman yelled "oi! Prick!" after him - but he was already gone. Appearing in a whirlwind of chaos and mayhem and disappearing just as quickly. Like a fleeting thought or loose feather in the wind. 

"John!" A distant, but familiar voice spoke his name; looking up, John let out a noise of greeting as he jogged over to meet the boy, both standing in the middle of the road for a few seconds - but they were kicked off it by people in cars sending them loud honks and yells of exasperation, both making their way to the footpath (with maybe one or two middle fingers directed at a few people on the way).

Ringo.  
John's best friend, confidant, and partner in crime. Together, the two wreaked havoc at Quarrybank Music Academy, never paying proper attention in class and fooling around, trying to make others laugh at any opportunity that arose. They grew up together, having gone to the same primary school before vowing to stick together for eternity as kids, even through university and whatever they ended up doing in their adulthood. So far, their promise had been kept. 17 year old boys at the same academy, still causing trouble after many years. Hated by teachers and principals alike; but of course, never the students. They were the class clowns, the entertainment during tough times; and they were overall liked by their entire year level. 

No one wanted to be on their bad side. John Lennon and Ringo Start pretty much ruled the entire school from their throne of year 12; become an enemy and pay the price. But they weren't assholes, really. They didn't enjoy picking on smaller kids or anything of that sort. They were just there to have fun. 

"Fucks sake, 've been waitin' forever! We're both bloody late now!" Ringo groaned, his voice laced with impatience as they continued on their treacherous journey to their personal hell called school. 

"Sorry, mate!" John shot back with a chuckle. "Pounding headache, horrible hangover, the works!" 

"Aye, same here. Ye look it, too!" Ringo quipped, causing John to throw a punch to his shoulder, albeit playfully. 

"Not too bad yerself, Rich." 

Darting through the pathways, the azure-eyed boy spotted something coming up behind them, turning to look in shock.

A bus! The exact one that would go right past their school every morning. If they jumped on it, then they would get to school five times faster than on foot. The large vehicle was coming up to their side, and there were a few school kids inside, obviously also late, just as John and Ringo were. 

There were two kids John didn't recognise; a dark haired boy with arched brows and a hollow-cheeked boy with a piercing stare, both wearing the Quarrybank school uniform. They were watching the two with mild interest, but neither of the ruffians paid much attention to them, too focused on trying to keep up with the vehicle before their feet would tear off.

"Our saviour! Our knight in shinin' armour." Ringo called out in mock relief, throwing his arms up and pointing to the bus, catching the auburn-haired boy's attention. 

"More like rusting metal." He snickered as they veered off, coming up beside the speeding bus, struggling to keep up with it due to their tiredness, and also being hungover. In such great condition to run after a speeding bus!

"Shit, wait-" Ringo almost began to slow down, falling behind John as they ran, rummaging hastily through his pockets. "don't 'ave any money fer a fare! What about ye?" 

John stuffed his hands in his pockets briefly, but came up with nothing. "Neither," he huffed. 

Then; a brand-spanking new idea popped into his head, and Ringo swore he could see a lightbulb hanging above his friend's head for a second; jump on the roof!

"Just jump on the roof! What the driver doesn't know won't hurt 'im!" 

"How the bloody fuck will we get up there?" Ringo exclaimed in horror.

"Climb, duh! Up the back." 

And a few minutes later, that's exactly what they did.

Conveniently, the bus slowed down just after John spoke that last sentence to stop at a traffic light, granting them access to stop breaking their legs running after it and hop swiftly onto the roof.

That was where they were. Clutching onto the hand rails for dear life, cackling in incredulous delight once the bus picked up speed, speeding off through the streets to their spot. 

"Shit! If we die up 'ere, Lennon, 'm gonna kill you!" Ringo shrieked, his voice being carried away in the wind that whirled past them, creating a distant whistling echoing in their ears. 

The older boy crawled along the roof, scooting his body further up it, which was flattened to the chipping paint and rusting metal. His knuckles were white with how strongly he was gripping onto the smooth rails attached to the roof, looking as if he thought if he held on any looser he would be swept away in the wind like a loose wrapper. But his eyes were alight with excitement, joyful grin pulling on his lips. John just watched him with a matching grin of his own, shaking out two cigarettes to smoke. 

"Come'ead, Rings! Ye know this is fun!" He shouted back, struggling to light up the cigs at the speed they were racing at, but managing to eventually, handing one to Ringo's outstretched hand before puffing on his own.

What a way to enter the school grounds. Leaping gracefully down from their position on the roof of the bus, carefully styled quiffs ruined by the wind and permanently frozen in a windswept style (not like John's hair was carefully styled, though - having had no time nor energy to work on it that morning. It looked almost exactly the same as it had before they had even got on the bus); flicking smoking cigarette butts to the ground, stubbing them out with their heels before scaling the fence bordering the property of the academy. Looking like the epitome of teenage rebellion. Like teddy boys.

John had no idea how much his life would change that day.

Slipping silently into the building, they stared at the empty, deserted hallways of the school. It was strange to see the place so empty on the first day of school; usually it was teeming with students, kids filling up the hallways wall to wall as they met up with friends and chattered excitedly about all the gossip of the holidays. But most of the time John nor Ringo were rarely there on time on the first day, anyway - since they seldom prepared for the early wake up time or any of their books. 

But after a second of silence that rang between the boys, there was the sound of the front doors opening behind them, footfalls sounding on the hard tile floors before they spun around.

There stood two kids, obviously new and uncertain of the place they were in, clutching at books and staring around them in confusion.

The taller of the two, a lanky boy with spindly legs (that looked like they could snap in two if you poked them), was clutching at a piece of paper - a schedule printed on it - with bony fingers, bushy, alarming brows framing his pale face, dark, brooding eyes scanning the paper. His chocolate brown, almost black hair was greased up in a messy quiff, shining under the harsh white light of the hallway lights. John couldn't help but notice his sharp, protruding cheekbones, and a jawline that looked sharp enough to cut paper, along with a black guitar case hanging off his back. He didn't seem to have noticed the other boys standing there before them - or, if he did, he didn't acknowledge them, choosing to continue to look at his schedule.

Immediately John was enraptured with the second boy. He was picking at his nails absentmindedly, not looking at either John nor Ringo. He was dressed neatly in his school uniform, looking pitch perfect; shirt tucked, tie done up, shoelaces tied. The only sign of rebellion that John could notice was the indifferent demeanour on the boy's face and the greased back hair. The deep, blackbird colour contrasted to his pale skin, framing his heart-shaped face, arched brows furrowed as he seemed to concentrate even harder on his nails (which was something that would usually be very uninteresting to John). His button nose was dusted red from the cold, plump lips chapped. His droopy, half-lidded eyes reminded John of a doe, and there were flecks of green in the hazel irises. They were perfectly framed with dark, thick lashes, resting on the top of his cheeks ever so gently. 

Wow. John blinked in jaw-dropping shock, feeling like he couldn't close his mouth for a few seconds before quickly composing himself. Yes. You're gay, John. Or half-gay. But don't let it get in the way right now. 

John had realised about a few months ago that he wasn't straight. It was a long battle that he fought through, and it took him a long long time to come to terms with it, but eventually - he did, after a few experimentation experiences he had with his friend Stuart. He still went out with girls, and still had feelings for them, but he found he did have feelings for guys as well. He hadn't told a single soul about his  
feelings, exemption being Ringo. He actually had had a crush on Ringo for a year or so in their childhood, awakening the first feelings he had for guys, but it faded overtime. They were better off as friends. 

"Ah. What do we have 'ere? Got some fresh meat, eh?" John immediately slipped into his 'suave charmer' mode, languid smirk on his lips and eyes half lidded as he stepped forward, catching the attention of only the shorter boy, hands in pockets. The hollow-cheeked boy still didn't pay attention to anything else in his surroundings, focused intently on his schedule. "Such a pity ta come late on the first day. Not such a great first impression, huh?" He raised on eyebrow, letting out a 'tsk' noise, shaking his head as if he was disapproving their actions. 

The boy picking his nails didn't move, the only exception being his eyes flickering up to study the boy before him. His nose crinkled - only just - in disgust as he sized up the teddy boy, emotions flickering through his gaze like wildfire before settling on mild indifference once again. If John wasn't being as attentive as he was, he wouldn't have noticed any difference to before he had even spoken. 

A flare of annoyance flickered in John's chest as he stared at the boy. Disgust?? He hadn't even done anything yet. What, with just talking to him, this boy was disgusted? He had looked at him like he was the dirt on the bottom of his shoe. The auburn-haired boy's brows furrowed, but he kept his irritation to himself before beginning to speak again.

"Wonderin' if ye guys need a hand to get a hang of the place. We could give ye a tour." He managed to keep his cool demeanour, crossing his arms before leaning against the brick wall next to him, keeping as nonchalant and aloof as he possibly could. He didn't give a shit. Of course not! He didn't need to help these puny creatures. Even if they looked to be the same age as him, and therefore in the same year level (probably not the other kid though); who gives a shit? Haha! Right?

"We're just fine, thanks." Was all the boy said, icy tone lacing his breezy words before he glided away, head held high and hips swinging as he went. The other boy trailed after him, not having looked at John or Ringo even once during the entire interaction. 

"Wh- What?-" John spluttered in horror as he watched them round a corner and disappear out of sight, not looking back at all. He had never experienced rejection like that ever. He was John Lennon, for christ's sake! People didn't just reject him like that!

"Jeez. Doesn't seem very nice." Ringo commented, looking bewildered as he watched them go. "It woulda helped them if they said yes. They probably 'ave no idea where they're goin'." 

"Prick! I was just bein' nice!" John crossed his arms. He felt particularly hurt, stung at the icy distant response that the boy gave them. And he had looked at John like he was a gross bug that was crawling along the floor below, not like he was an actual human being. 

Well, he didn't need him. He was just some stupid kid anyway who looked 12 years old, not like John was attracted to him. He probably didn't even know how to play any instruments, just got here on his dad's money. Nope. No siree. John did not need to bother himself with a snobby boy like him. Not at all.

-

"Mr. Lennon, Mr. Starkey. Care to explain why you two boys are late?" 

The stern, but not unkind voice of their new class A3 music teacher George Martin pierced John's ears as they stepped inside the classroom. The session was already halfway through, and kids seemed to have been listening to what their teacher was saying before the two came in. Now, their gaze was trained on the two boys at the door, who stood there looking bored as ever.

"Oh- Mr. Martin! It was me poor sick mother, y'see, she's so very ill-" He immediately fell into his usual comedic spiel, dropping to his knees, holding up clasped hands in a begging motion. It was basically a knee-jerk reaction that he always turned to whenever he was nervous, or just wanted a reaction out of people. As expected, a chorus of snickers drifted through the group of kids, satisfaction seeping into his chest, making John smirk.

"Right, that's enough of your cheek, Lennon. Go and sit, both of you." The teacher rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of amusement sparkling in them as he gestured to the empty seats at the very back, which seemed to be reserved for just them. 

"Actually, sir, I know why they were late." A familiar innocent voice piped up. It was the boy from earlier! His face was still expressionless, except a hint of fake innocence that lingered on his lips as he held up a raised hand, staying in his spot on the seat second closest to the window. The boy with the piercing stare had occupied the seat next to him, but for the first time he was actually looking up at the two, scrutinising gaze causing awkwardness to rise in his throat, tugging at his suddenly uncomfortable guitar strap. 

Are they seriously about to fucking rat us out? They saw us jumping onto the roof of the bus! Shit! John stared at them in indignation, disliking the new kids more and more by the second. 

"Oh? Why is that, Paul?" 

So that's his name, huh? John thought to himself. Paul. Yeah, sounds about right for a prick like him. He clenched his teeth in anger. 

"We were late today because we were trying to prepare for the school day. We were coming here on the bus and we saw them running after it and they jumped on the roof. They didn't pay for their fare." The boy looked almost smug, as if he was perfectly happy with ratting the two guys out and basically landing them detention. 

"What? But-" John started in a fit of fury, but was interrupted.

"Is this true?" Mr. Martin turned to look at the two boys with stern expressions, arms crossed as he sat on his desk. 

Fucking hell! John hissed to himself in his head. 

"Of course not!" He protested aloud. Ringo chose to just stay silent, hands shoved in his pockets at he gazed at the wall, looking bored. There were giggled echoing throughout the room again, the students finding it amusing that John was blatantly lying, and their overall fate. Paul and Brows was just watching them, the former looking satisfied with his work, the latter just completely expressionless. John didn't think he had even seen him blink yet. 

"I'm sorry, boys, but knowing your track record, I think I have to believe Mr. McCartney." The teacher sighed. "Detention for both of you after school today." He waved them off and stood up, going back to sit behind his desk, looking already tired out with his job, and it only had just begun.

"But!-" John started.

"No buts. Sit." He pointed to their desks with a stern look.

Shutting his mouth with a dramatic groan, the auburn-haired boy flopped into his seat, kicking feet up onto the table as he crossed his arms, petulant glare fixed on Paul. His now sworn enemy. He had only just got to school, and already was landed in detention! 

Paul wasn't looking at him, though, his body turned to face the front of the class, looking attentive, all signs of previous mischief gone.

"Ha! Unlucky! Gettin' detention on the first day o' school! Ye probably broke a record!" One of John's friends, Pete, leaned back in his seat in front of him, grinning at him and running a hand through his blonde hair. 

"Thanks, Pete. 'preciate it." He faked a smile his friend's way, who just shrugged with a chuckle before turning back to the front.

"Right! Welcome to year 12 music class, everyone! I am your teacher for this year, Mr. George Martin. I'll be covering pretty much every topic related to music in this class." The teacher started, clapping his hands together. He continued to talk, running them through the stuff they would cover and answering a few questions. 

John tuned out, focusing on glaring daggers at his enemy from across the room, fingers tapping against the desk in irritation. He would get Paul back for tattling on him. 

-

At the end of the lesson, John and Ringo were one of the last to leave, being caught up with people chatting to them on their way out, much to John's exasperation. He wanted to just get out of there and get to his next class, and also hope that neither Paul nor Brows was in the class. 

Speaking off, the latter was brushing past him, having just spoken with the teacher. He didn't acknowledge either of the boys though, just drifting past aloofly; it pissed John off to no end. Pretty much every single student that walked the halls would acknowledge John in some form or another, and he wasn't used to people pointedly ignoring him.

"Gotta get to me maths class. See ye at recess." Ringo addressed his friend, pulling him from his reverie to look at him.

"'kay. See ya." John nodded, watching his friend leave as he gathered up his last book, moving to follow after him out of the classroom himself. But just as he opened the door and stepped out into the busy hallway, he heard voices begin to speak from inside the classroom.

Turning, he peered back into the classroom.

There Paul was, guitar case resting in his hands as he spoke with Mr Martin, the teacher leaning against the piano as they did so.

"So you've come up with original songs? May I hear one?" He was watching the student with interest sparking in his gaze.

"Yes. It's- not that great. But here." The boy seemed humble, almost meek in the teacher's presence, following whatever the teacher said obediently as he put down his guitar case, moving to sit on the piano chair, rolling up his sleeves.

What? John stared in awe. Humble? He didn't expect to see Paul acting that way, after seeing his attitude towards him in the hall earlier. It confused him, but he was still intrigued enough to continue spying on them, not noticing that the hallways had grown empty, everyone having settled into their respective lessons.

"Go on. I'm not gonna bite you." The skinny teacher chuckled slightly, patiently waiting for the boy to start.

"Okay." He spoke, and John saw his back move as the boy sucked in a breath.

He began to play. The tune was melancholy, somewhat, but had a hint of bravery in them, making John picture Paul soldering on in spite of some sort of pain. Embracing it, somewhat. Knowing its a part of you, but it doesn't define you.  
His breath hitched as he stared in absolute awe, a new admiration rising as he continued to stare. Holy shit. Unfortunately, John had to admit it- Paul was incredibly talented. 

"When I find myself in times of trouble, mother Mary comes to me..." He began to sing.

His voice was like smooth honey, seeping into John's ears and into his brain, infecting him with its raw power and strength, gripping onto his heart with iron claws. It was so addicting to listen to, and he couldn't get enough of it. 

"Singing words of wisdom.. let it be." 

Every instinct in John's body was screaming at him to move forward, to get a closer look, to hear better, but he managed to stay in his spot, still undetected by either person in the room as he watched on.

Paul was incredibly talented. He obviously had a knack for songwriting, if he came up with it himself - and he was amazing at playing the piano. And of course, his singing was so good. It made John insanely jealous - that a boy like him could be so talented while John felt he was subpar himself. And that he had such a shitty personality made it even worse. It wasn't fair!

Why the hell was he so attracted to this boy he's only known for about an hour?? Why couldn't it have been someone else? Anyone else other than him!

Before he knew it, there was a harsh voice cutting in from behind him, tearing him from his trance and throwing him back to earth.

"Mr Lennon! Stop spying and go to your class." A teacher was standing there, hands on hips. 

He started at him for a few seconds before nodding, opting to stay silent as he moved away, hurrying down the hallway to get to his class.

He couldn't get Paul out of his mind. His insane talent, pretty face... but the way he acted with John. What did he do to deserve such a fate? He huffed, growing suddenly angry as he clenched his fists.

He wouldn't let this boy affect him. He was just another classmate, someone who annoyed the hell out of him and didn't mean anything to him whatsoever, just that he was a mild nuisance in his life. Nothing more.

And it would stay that way for the rest of the school year.


	2. 2 ;; first assignments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING ::  
> this chapter contains gay slurs

The clang of metal slamming against each other; accompanied by the squeak of shoes against tiles and books being closed, creating a concerto of noises that were blanketed by the enthusiastic chatters of schoolchildren as they gathered their necessary items for class. 

It was just the same for John Lennon - he was gathering up his books for his first lesson of the second day, which was his main, music. Since it was a music academy for kids looking to pursue a career involving music, that meant that they usually had music as a lesson once every day, and twice on some days; they still had regular lessons like a normal school would have, like science and maths and English etc, but the kids attending were there for the music. 

Leaning his battered leather guitar case precariously against the lockers - that contained the most precious artefact in his life at the moment - next to him, he attempted to unlock his locker for the 3rd time, teeth now clenched in irritation. 

"Bloody lock.." He hissed under his breath, calloused fingers attempting to get the combination correct, and failing once again. "Fuck!" Why has the world forsaken me? He shook his head in indignation, spitting curses at whatever god or holy creature that his aunt believed watched over the earth, telling it to go fuck itself if it was causing all his dilemmas.

"Poor Lenny! Can't get his locker open." Ringo quipped amusedly, watching his friend suffer with his smugness seeping through his countenance, shining in his eyes and laced within his smirk. He had gotten the combination on his own locker right on the first try, and was patiently watching John fall apart from acrimony, waiting until they could leave for their shared class. 

"Shut yer mouth, Starr, or I'll shut it for ya." John's harsh scouse accent tore through his speech, but his amusement peeked through his anger, barely suppressed smile lighting up his features.

"I dare ya," His azure-eyed friend challenged him, and of course the younger boy would retaliate; he shot out a hand and twisted Ringo's wrist the opposite way that it should bend with an amused schoolboy malice. Ringo let out a noise of protest and scrambled away, not without a friendly shove to John's shoulder and a playful glare directed his way. "oi! Prick." He clutched at his sore wrist.

"You asked, and I delivered." 

Ringo was about to reply, but he seemingly fell short as his eyes fixed on something behind his friend, expression changing from amused to distrustful. John was about to ask what caused his sudden mood change, but decided to just turn and see for himself; and there they were. 

They weren't looking at anyone - John presumed they were too caught up in their own worlds to notice anything happening around them. The shorter one (Paul was his name, John remembered hearing Mr Martin say it yesterday) seemed to be gliding along the tiles, expression distant and cold, doe eyes fixed on a certain locker near the end of the hallway, which John assumed was his. He was holding onto a well-kept guitar case of his own that John recognised, since he saw him holding the same thing when they first met yesterday. Brows seemed to be more present in the world this time, meeting gazes of some curious students ambling along around them. John still didn't know his name yet. 

One thing the auburn-haired boy noticed, too: was the stares people were giving them. Most - if not all - of the people around were looking at the two new kids, some leaning to the side to whisper something to their friend, others snickering at jokes. Those jokes were most likely made at their expense, he thought with an uncomfortable swallow. He didn't really know why it made him so uneasy, the thought of the two being made fun of. They weren't exactly the friendliest to him the last time they interacted, so why should he care? They were just bratty kids who probably had too much money on their hands than they knew what to do with. 

"Look, those are the new kids," he heard a younger boy hiss to his friend, pointing to the two as they made their way past John and Ringo. 

"They look like right pooftas!" The other snickered, eyes flashing with an impish glee. 

John watched them go. A cold feeling of dread trickled down his spine at those words, like icy water down his neck. Why is everyone being such arseholes to them? He felt a pair of eyes bore into his shoulder, causing him to flip around to see who it was.

Brows was peering at him with an intensity alight in his eyes, the deadpan expression on his face and the harshness of his brows making him almost look like he was angry with the older boy. But, there wasn't any other indication to him being hostile; instead the boy just blinked at him once before turning away to catch up with Paul. 

"They're a weird pair o' blokes." John couldn't help but say out loud, nasal voice laced with bewilderment, Ringo nodding in agreement with a small chuckle.

Trying to brush the encounter from his mind, the sharp-nosed boy collected the rest of his books for his class, not wanting to be late to his first lesson for the second time in a row. He knew Mr Martin would start to lay on the tasks thickly this year, since it was their very last - everyone in the 12th year would be graduating. It was gonna be very hard for John since he had almost failed the previous, but he would try his best. Not that he could bring himself to care very much, anyway.

As John shut his locker and promptly locked it, he turned to see a familiar head of sleek, dark hair approaching him. Ringo noised a word of greeting, slapping the younger boy on the shoulder, Stuart returning it with a smirk.

"Aye, Stu!" John grinned at his close friend, the two sharing a hug for a moment before the three of them set off through the crowd to their destination. 

"What's up, guys? Looks like yer not late this time, Lennon! That's a first," His attractive friend quipped with a raised eyebrow. Yes, John would admit Stuart was attractive. He was one of the first men he felt attracted to - but he knew it probably wouldn't happen. Stuart was as straight as could be, despite being interested in art and music (which usually wasn't common for a boy in a place like Liverpool, filled with tough hardened men who worked on the docks). And sometimes he felt Stuart picked on kids a bit too much for his liking.

"Shut it." He just rolled his eyes. "I-" He fell silent, the words dying on his tongue as his eyes stretched wide in shock. They were passing by the locker that belonged to Paul, and there were harsh words that caught his eye. 

Sprayed on the metal with cruel, demanding letters, which were coloured a severe ink black, were several words that caused even John's breath to hitch.

Faggot 

Fairy cunt !

Go back to yor brownie land, pansy!

Despite the crummy spelling, it still shot a bout of trepidation up the nape of his neck; those words were dreaded and feared by most, not ever wanting them directed at themselves - but, of course, it wasn't by the people who were the ones dealing them out. 

"I.." He started again, trying his absolute best to make it seem as if the words hadn't affected him. They hadn't been directed at him, thank christ, but it still set him on edge, glancing all around him with foreboding, feeling like everyone was looking at him and as if they all knew his deepest darkest secrets, his utmost desires. It always did. Being found out was the worst thing imaginable that could happen to a gay person, since it basically meant jail, and probably for life as such. A criminal. Or death.

He saw him in his peripheral vision. The person who all these scathing words were directed towards - at first, the boy tentatively made his way up to the locker as if it would explode or something when he went near it. His back was turned to the three boys spectating (in fact, turned against everyone, since basically all of the students around were watching him at this point) so John couldn't make out his expression. 

But he watched as Paul lifted up shaky hands, tracing a long finger over one of the letters before letting it fall to his side, staring at the thing in front of him with ragged breaths. 

There were snickers and giggles echoing strangely throughout the hallway, sounding as if they were bouncing around the inside of John's ears and worming its way into his brain, infecting his mind and lungs, making it harder to breathe. 

"Shirtlifter!" The word was called out through the haze of laughter, which only caused people to chortle more, totally unaffected at the impact by which the words had on the person that it was sent towards. After what seemed like years of silence, Paul finally turned around. John saw that the boy's expression was stoic and unaffected, looking aloof as ever as he locked eyes with a few of the people staring (who, in turn, looked somewhat disappointed that they didn't get the reaction they desired out of him). 

But - he could see a glimmer of hurt embedded in his leafy irises, alight with barely-suppressed distress. And those eyes - those enticing eyes that John could gaze into for eternity - trained on him as he stood at the other end of the hallway. Ringo and Stuart chattered faintly next to him.

John desperately wanted to say something. Anything, to comfort Paul and wipe away the hurt that was ever present. It was disconcerting to see such an emotion coming from the boy that was so headstrong and seemed to never be affected by anything that surrounds him. The older boy didn't like it, he didn't want to see him sad like that. 

He was dragged away by Stuart before he could even approach him.

"Ey John! Got somethin' to tell ya!" The short boy nudged him, guiding him away from Paul and smirking at him mischievously, a knowing look in his eye.

"What's up?" John tried his best to rid his mind of the image of Paul's eyes filled with hurt and focus on what Stu was saying.

"So's y'know me friend Kev from Liverpool high?" He straightened, looking as if he was about to reveal some sort of wondrous news to his friend. "He told me that one o' the girl's there is interested in ye. She saw ye at Pete's party last week an' said ye guys chatted a bit. Name's Cynthia. Do ye remember?" 

"Uhh.." The older hunted through his memory to see if he would remember the person his friend was talking about; and he remembered, yeah. A mousy-haired girl with a sweet disposition and a charming smile. Someone he was sure he would definitely fall for - but it seemed that fate decided it would not be so, and he couldn't see himself in a relationship with her. "Yeah, I remember." He decided to say with a nonchalant shrug.

"So? You interested in her?" Stuart watched him expectantly.

He knew that he wasn't really, only a mild attraction - but he thought maybe, if he went on a date with her, he would forget about his conflicting feelings for Paul that were running wild ever since he first laid eyes on him. Yes, that would be a good solution. It wouldn't do anyone good for him to grow anymore interested in the elusive boy that seemed set on treating him like a bad smell.

"Yeah, sure. 'd love ta go out with her," he lied through his teeth.

"Gear! I'll tell 'er, she'll probably look ye up an' call ya." Stuart winked and nudged his arm again. "Anyroad, gotta go to class. See ye guys at recess." He waved them off before veering away to the left, around the corner and out of sight.

"You okay, John?" Ringo's soft voice sounded near him after a few beats of silence, and he turned to look at his best friend. His eyes were round and kind, sparkling with an empathy that would only come from someone who knew of one's true situation. John knew Ringo would have seen his reaction to the words written on Paul's locker, and he would sympathise. He was the only person he had told about his feelings for guys, after all.

"Don't worry, I'll be fine." He sighed, attempting to smile and reassure the sapphire-eyed boy that he would, of course, be fine. 

-

The two tight-knit friends entered the drab looking classroom for the second time that year, growing familiar with their surroundings as they chose seats at the very back, that seemed left empty for them as if they were their assigned seats already. The milky white lights embedded in the roof above them strained on John's tired eyes, and the worn plastic of the chair groaned under his weight when he plonked down into it, kicking his feet up nonchalantly onto the desk in front of him. Ringo sat down beside him, dumping his books on his own desk with a dramatic sigh.

"Feet off the table, Mr Lennon." Mr Martin greeted the boy with a stern brow-raise. 

"Dearly sorry, teacher." John complied, instead crossing his arms over it and resting his chin on them. He didn't feel very much like participating in their lesson activities, already feeling like the school year had gone on way too long and that the holidays would arrive soon, even if it was only the second day back. Then again, when did John Lennon ever feel like participating in school stuff? 

He felt that someone was looking at him again, the hairs on the back of his neck rising uncomfortably as he lifted his eyes to see who was looking at him. 

It was Paul. But, as soon as he spotted the boy, he immediately turned to face the front, looking as if nothing had occurred at all (except for the tenseness of his muscles as he sat there). John wondered for a moment if he imagined it all. He saw that other people were still snickering about the new kid's misfortune, and the older heard some not-so-savoury words about him thrown around. He wondered how Paul was reacting to it all.

"Right! Welcome back, class. I hope that you all know my name by now," their teacher clapped his worn hands to catch everyone's attention. "Today I've got your first assignment. It's going to be a pair project-"

John immediately heard a chorus of "yes!"'s and "let's be partners!"'s thrown around the room, but they were quickly cut off by Martin silencing them again.

"Unfortunately for you all, I'm going to pick the grouping randomly."  
There was a chorus of disappointed groans from the students.

"Anyways, the task is: you have to create an original song of your own. You can choose to include or avoid singing lyrics, it can be instrumental, or only singing - whatever you desire. You and your partner must collaborate on some level and create a song or composition. I've given you a week to do so, it must be handed in next week on this day." The kids chattered quietly to each other for a few moments. 

"So let me pick the partners now. Once I've done so, both of you must find a spot to sit together. If you really struggle with the choice I made, you can bring it up with me." He paused before training his eyes on Ringo. "Richard, you can go with..." his eyes searched the room, picking people at random. "George here." He pointed to Brows.

"So he has a name, huh?" John muttered to Ringo, who snickered before standing up, making his way over to where George was, the boy in question shuffling along the desks to make room for him. John saw a brief greeting pass between them, before there was silence. 

"Right. Pete.." Martin pointed to John's friend in front of him, and it was at that point that John tuned out.  
He didn't really care all that much about who he got partnered with, as long as they pulled their own weight and wasn't a total douche. He decided to just drift off until he heard his own name being called, and hope he wouldn't be stuck with someone like Paul. Even though there was a tiny voice in the back of his mind saying he wouldn't mind partnering with him, he knew it would be better if they weren't. His feelings about the boy were confusing enough and he didn't want to deal with it anymore than he had to.

"John! Are you listening?" The teacher called his name eventually, pulling him from his thoughts as he lifted his head, trying to focus his bleary vision on Mr Martin.

"Sir, yes, sir!" He sat up straight and held a hand to his forehead in a saluting motion, causing people around to break into giggles, his chest soaring with satisfaction at the reaction. He looked to see if Paul had reacted, but the boy was still sitting forward, John only seeing the back of his head.

"Don't be cheeky." Their teacher stared him down, but looked mildly amused before he searched the room for a partner. "How about Paul here?" He gestured to the boy, who was sitting next to George and Ringo.

Oh god, no. John's heart sank. Of course, the world wanted to punish him even more for some reason and land him with the person he wanted to be partnered with the absolute least. How the hell will I deal with this? 

He saw that Paul was looking equally shocked and outraged at Martin's choice, as if John was also the last person he wanted to end up with as well. 

"Sir-" John started in horror.

"If you have any problems, bring it up to me after class." Mr Martin interrupted, looking tired as he waved them away, turning back to partnering the last of the kids that were left. He obviously didn't want to deal with whatever dispute the two were experiencing.

"Fer fuck's sake..." John spat curses as he watched Paul rise to his feet before drifting gracefully (reminding John faintly of a swan) towards him, looking as if he hadn't a care in the world, as always. It pissed the aquiline-nosed boy to no end to see that the raven-haired boy continued to act as if nothing affected him, and that John was a mere bug that crawled onto his shoe, mildly disgusting but nothing to get in a twist over. It made him suddenly desperate to get a reaction out of him, to see his lips quirk up in a smile or his brows to furrow in anger - anything! Anything at all! Anything other than that distant, cold look. He couldn't continue to be all formal and haughty forever! Right?

"Bad luck, John." The kid in front of him turned to whisper to him, snickering. "Ye got stuck with the homo."

John managed a halfhearted chuckle, but it felt extremely forced, even to his own ears. All the comments about Paul made his chest bubble with a confused sort of anger, feeling helpless to do anything except pretend people never said anything, or laugh along.

The boy in question obviously heard the exchange, and his eyes blazed momentarily with fury, lip curling with resentment. Well, that's something at least. He couldn't help but let the corners of his mouth twitch in wry amusement.

"Okay, students! Now that we're all settled-" Mr Martin managed to get the kids to quiet down as he addressed them again, everyone now being partnered up. "get to know your partners if you don't already, and start coming up with ideas. I'll be coming around the classroom eventually to check up on you all, okay? I would suggest you start sooner than later, as some of this will have to be done outside of school hours." He gave them all a steely look, before gesturing for them to start, turning to sit on his desk.

And so, the students all around them began talking excitedly, shifting around the room; some kids pulled out their instruments, filling the room with timid guitar twangs or hesitant piano chords as they struggled to come up with a melody.

Immediately, Paul rounded on John, bristling with hostility. Even though anyone around them would think Paul wasn't angry, since he showed no physical signs of being so - but John could feel it rolling off the boy in waves, and see it in how tense his body was, how his eyes flared, his lips pressed tightly together.

"Just so's ye know, 'm not particularly pleased that ye ended up bein' me partner."   
John couldn't help but shiver ever so slightly at the boy's delightfully scouse accent.

"Oh?" John raised an eyebrow, getting his back up at how unfriendly the boy was being. Who the hell gave him the right??? "Is that so? Well, no need ta get yer knickers in a twist. I won't keep you long." He smiled sweetly, tilting his head to the side slightly. The words were tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop it, and he was regretting it already - but it was what he was best at. Running his mouth. "Well, word has it that yer not so opposed ta wearin' some good old panties, anyroad."

"If I even had any, I'd bloody choke yer stupid neck with them, ye tosser!" Paul's voice rose an octave as his hands drew to fists, but before anything could escalate, a looming presence shut them both up.

"Boys? What's going on here?" Hands on hips, Mr Martin glared them down icily. He was obviously expecting an answer, so after a few heartbeats of uneasy tension, they both spoke at once.

"He started it!" They spoke in unison, pointing towards each other with wide eyes. Realising that they spoke at the same time, they both glared at each other irritably.

"I don't want to hear about it. Please, for the sake of your grades, just get along for this week." He saw them both opening their mouths to talk again, and he silenced them by shaking his head. "I'm not going to swap either of you for different partners. Both of you are talented and smart, and need to learn to move past silly 2nd grader disputes and get on with your work." As he spoke the last few words, his gaze was trained on John especially, but he just stared back, looking bored. When neither spoke again, he just walked off, looking absolutely done with everything and like he needed a 20 year holiday.

"Well, we might as well get on with it, then." Paul sighed eventually, having given up, but he didn't turn to look at John, instead just pulling out a notebook from the pile of books he brought, flipping through the pages (albeit his hands were shaking ever so slightly, and his expression was hard and set) to a blank one. As he did so, the older boy spotted flashes of drawings and many scribbles, but he didn't get to look long enough to see what they were - and he wouldn't be able to read them, anyway, since he didn't have his glasses on.

Instead of saying anything, John just reached under his desk, pulling his guitar case out from under it before unlocking it, gently pulling out the instrument from its resting place before positioning it across his lap. He knew he should probably put his glasses on to see what he was doing better, but he didn't want to when there were so many people around. He didn't want people to know he needed glasses.

"Right. Got any ideas?" Paul piped up again, lifting his head to lock eyes with him. He saw that the majority of the doe-eyed boy's anger seemed to have vanished, but his eyes still flashed with indignation at seeing John, and he seemed even more distant than he was before. John couldn't help but feel despondent at that, but he shook himself. He hadn't done anything wrong. Paul was just being a prick.

"Not really, if 'm honest." Was all he said, followed by a shrug. It was true, he couldn't really think of any melody or lyrics at the moment - he was tired as hell from a lack of sleep (your fault, Paul, John added to himself), it was early, and he refused to put on his glasses when surrounded by people.

Huffing, Paul rolled his eyes. "What, so yer not willin' to try an' think of somethin' at all?" He glared at John, eyes sparking with frustration.

"Nope." He let a devilish smirk play on his lips at seeing Paul all worked up. It amused him to no end to see his cute button nose crinkle in irritation, his arched brows furrowed, lips pulled back in a sneer. It was adorable. "Tell ye what, though..."

"Spit it out, woudja?" Paul sighed, resting his head in his hand in defeat.

"Come meet at my place after school today. I'll be able ta work better then. Sound good to ya?" A tremor of excitement rushed through his veins at the thought of Paul coming over. He could imagine the boy knocking on the door to his house, hands shoved in his pockets, guitar strapped to his back. Maybe clad in a leather jacket or jeans, perhaps sneakers, too. Would he wear something like that? Possibly, as John noticed he would usually sport a less extravagant hybrid of a teddy boy quiff. Maybe he liked rock 'n' roll, too. He did have a guitar, after all. And he had a pretty strong scouse accent - but around adults, he would poshen it up as much as he could.

"Uh.. sure." Paul drew back in shock, staring at him like he grew three heads all of a sudden. "I would need yer address, though."

"Gizzus a moment.." John muttered, reaching and tearing a page out of the younger's notebook with no thought given, snatching a pen off of the person sitting in front of them - despite both Paul and the other boy's protests - before scribbling down his address in jagged, messy writing. Just for kicks, he wrote 'xox John (:' at the bottom, handing it back to him. Thankfully, Paul didn't look at it, just took it (albeit hesitantly) and putting it in his pocket. 

"Okay. 'm assumin' we're not doin' any work durin' this lesson, then?" Paul raised a questioning brow.

"You assumed correct, Paulie." He grinned playfully when he saw Paul glare at him furiously due to the new nickname he coined for him.

"I swear ta christ, if ye call me that, I'll come to yer house an' smash me guitar over yer head." 

"I'd like to see you try."

"Watch it, Lennon."

-

"Remember, students! This is due next week on Tuesday!" Mr Martin called after the kids, but of course - they weren't really listening, instead gathering up their things and bolting out of there as quick as lightning. John wasn't an exception; he wanted to get away from Paul as quickly as possible, not particularly enjoying the tense silence that followed their bickering. The latter just pulled out a book and read it the entire time, while John just drew random scribbles in his notebook, bored out of his mind and about ready to just leave the entire school premises and go off to the record shop or something.

"Aye, Lenny! Wait up!" He heard Ringo call after him once he made it to the doorway, and he paused, waiting for his friend to catch up. While he was, though - Paul and George slipped past him, not looking at him once as they went. He pointedly ignored the feeling of all the hairs on his arm standing on end when the former's elbow brushed his side.

"How was Brows? Or George, as his name is now?" John prompted curiously as the two friends left the classroom, carrying their stuff as they went.

"Well, actually-" Ringo stopped himself, looking uncertain, as if he didn't know whether or not John would get angry. "he was surprisingly.. nice."

"Nice? He was nice?" John stared at him incredulously. "Are ye sure you didn't imagine it?"

"Yes! Being nice is not totally unheard of, John." His friend rolled his eyes exasperatedly. "He was quiet at first, almost said nothin' at all, but as we went, he warmed up to me a bit. He said he wouldn't be opposed to hangin' out with me again." He beamed.

"Oh, lucky you." John chuckled dryly. "Paul's not quite so friendly. More like a total pillock, actually."

"Well, George said Paul-"

"I don't give a shit 'bout what George thinks!" He rounded on Ringo with a piercing glare. "I've done nothin' to provoke him, an' he's just being a total arsewipe." He trained his gaze on the floor, shoving his free hand in his pocket and kicking at the ground crossly.

"God, yer so stubborn! Whatever, man. See ya." Ringo just shook his head, not feeling up to putting up with his best friend's bullshit at that moment. So, he just turned and walked off in the opposite direction. They also had separate classes, so Ringo was supposed to go that way anyway.

John didn't turn to watch him go, instead picking up his pace to ensure he wouldn't be late to his class again. 

As he went, he spotted the two boys him and Ringo had just been discussing, staring at him from the other end of the hall. Paul just glared at him before turning away, George doing the same. Seemed like he had sided with his friend in the whole situation and was hellbent on hating John too.

To hell with them. He clenched his teeth, opening the door and going into his history class.


	3. 3 ;; learning

John was pacing fervently. The well-worn wood of his bedroom floor groaned under his weight, seemingly crying out in irritation due to his anxious marching. He could almost hear Ringo's voice in his ear; "John, fer christ's sake, take one more step an' I'll knock ye out!" (things he had said when John had annoyed him to the point of insanity with pacing - for example, when he had a date with a certain girl he had liked for weeks.)

But he couldn't find it in him to stop. It was a calming method, something for him to do when anticipating something. He hadn't been this anxious since he watched the ambulance carry Uncle George away. But he was anxious for a very different reason this time, not something so bad as that.

Paul McCartney. 

After school had ended, John had lingered a bit to say goodbye to Ringo, his long-time friend forgiving him for their little dispute earlier on and inviting him to the chippy down the road. Unfortunately, he had to decline, since he had to meet Paul later to work on the song. His friend was understanding, albeit disappointed - John himself, however, felt terribly excited. 

He would try to convince himself that he wasn't excited. Of course he wasn't excited! He was nervous as hell, yeah, due to Paul being a total tosser and not really wanting to put up with him, but nothing more than that! Maybe angry at himself for inviting the guy over, when he really shouldn't have if he sent him into an intense flurry of emotions such as this. But there wasn't any going back now. He had to face the consequences of his rash decision and just put up with the asshole for an hour or two and then he'd be on his merry fucking way and they wouldn't interact with each other until their next music lesson. Right?

"John! One of your.. ahem, friends is here!" Mimi voice floated up from the floor below him, and he froze in shock. He had been so caught up in his own conflicting feelings that he hadn't even heard the knock on the door, nor his aunt and the person conversing! 

"Shitshitshitshit-" The curses bled from his lips before he could stop them, and he scrambled down the shabby carpet on the staircase; not before checking himself out in the mirror hung up on his wall, smoothing back stray locks of hair, but also trying to adjust it enough to make it look like he didn't work on his look too much. That would be embarrassing (he had cleaned his room earlier as well - not too much, but just enough so you could see the floor below). Holy fuck okay, John. Shut up. You can do this. Why the fuck are you so anxious? Who gives a toss???? Certainly not me. Not at all. 

Several different inner voices screamed in his ears as he squeezed past his aunt in the narrow hallway, only to lock eyes with the person that had been contaminating his brain like some sort of gross (albeit pretty) virus. He didn't listen to a single one as he shot a smile at Mimi, trying to signal to her for her to fuck off so he wouldn't be reprimanded if him or Paul shot a mean word in the other's direction, which he was itching to do; just to piss the younger off.

"Hello, I'm Paul McCartney." The boy in question had turned the charm up to seemingly a million, holding out a hand and shaking Mimi's politely, his face the perfect picture of innocence. If only his aunt knew.

"Ah, hello. Come in," Mimi moved aside begrudgingly, not really reacting to Paul's attempts to worm his way into her good books. And John knew why.

The boy was wearing a faded, well-worn leather jacket that was studded with sunken-in creases, a blue plaid shirt underneath, black trousers along with it and a pair of scuffed white sneakers. His guitar case was strapped to his back, and he was carrying his frayed notebook and a pen. His hair was done up seemingly more than usual; instead of being generally just greased back, he had curled it into a full-blown teddy boy quiff! At seeing the haircut on him, John couldn't help but grin devilishly. Had the boy styled his hair specifically for this occasion? When he left school, his hair definitely wasn't in such a state, the older remembered. Jesus fucking christ, why am I so attracted to him? Oh god shut up John, not now.. 

Paul had obviously expected not to see such a middle-class house when he went to meet with John. He probably knew that the Mendips area was generally more wealthy, but from the way he was staring at the house in bewilderment, he had not expected the rough-n-tough John Lennon to be living in a house like this. In fact, he stood out like a sore thumb against the backdrop of the houses' neatly trimmed bushes and spotless floors. But Paul just accepted Mimi's invitation and made his way inside; as he went, his shoulder brushed John's, and he - once again - tried to ignore the crackle of electricity that shot through his veins at the touch. 

"We'll just be goin' upstairs, Mimi. Have some schoolwork to do." John decided to make haste, not wanting to be in this terribly awkward situation any longer than necessary, feeling the tension thicken the air around the three people as they stood in the hallway. He grabbed Paul's wrist firmly and basically dragged the boy away to the staircase, pulling him along while he ascended the steps. He felt the doe-eyed boy's eyes boring into the back of his neck, stinging with confusion, but he ignored it. He also ignored the way his palm tingled at connecting with Paul's soft skin. 

"Alright," Mimi watched the exchange in utter confusion, before turning away, not really wanting to bother. 

"Nice meeting you..." Paul called before he was unceremoniously lugged through the first door in the second floors' hallway - as he discovered when he stumbled into the room and set his eyes on it, he was in John's bedroom. 

John could see the boy's eyes rake across the room, taking in all the sights; the unmade bed that had a well-looked after guitar resting on it, the window that overlooked a desk that was completely covered in papers covered with random drawings or sketches and lots of books and a few cigarette butts. On the opposite wall of the bed was his closet and a chest of drawers. Not particularly exciting of course. What was actually exciting (to Paul at least, because his eyes trained on them quickly) were the many many posters that were sprawled across the walls, a reflection of John's inner self expressed through pictures. His most heartfelt interests, the things he held closest to him. 

Elvis's face stared back at him from the foot of his bed when he settled down onto it, resting his guitar in his lap as he reached blindly to his desk next to him for his cigarette packet. Brigitte Bardot was next to Elvis (both of the two celebrities he found the most attractive), and there were various other rock 'n' rollers spread out across the walls, along with some pictures of cool cars and guitars he was interested in. Some with his friends, too - Ringo and John's dorky smiling faces from inside a cheap photo booth was stuck up just above the drawers. Probably about 14 years old there. 

A chuckle sounded from next to John, and he looked up in interest.

"What's so funny, princess?" 

"Fuck off." Paul glared. "I just didn't expect you, of all people - ta live in such a high-end 'ouse like this." His hazelnut-green eyes softened with laughter for a moment, before they returned to their usual distant coolness.

"Is that so?" John went to grab his cig packet again, having faltered and forgotten for a moment when Paul laughed. Not because of that, though. Definitely not. He slipped out a stick and stuck it between his lips, fiddling with his lighter languidly, "Well, as ye'll come ta find out - life is full of wonderful surprises." He lit the cigarette, taking a long puff, sending the billows of smoke into the musky air. He felt Paul's eyes on him again, so he held up an unlit one towards him, raising an eyebrow. "Want one?"

"What? No-" Paul stared, seemingly on complete disbelief that John could even suggest that the Oh-So-Honourable McCartney had ever touched such a sinful thing as a cigarette. "I don't smoke." 

"Suit yerself," he just shrugged. So Paul doesn't smoke, huh? He thought to himself with a sly smirk. Not surprised, the pansy. 

"Okay, can we not waste time?" Paul rolled his eyes, apparently sick of John's dawdling - he lifted his guitar case off his back and opened it up, discarding it on the floor before he paused, staring at John expectantly.   
For a moment, the older wondered what the hell he was waiting for if he was so eager to get moving; then he realised that he was taking up all the space on the bed and there wasn't anywhere Paul could sit (the desk chair had been obstructed by a cardboard box where John was collecting a bunch of knick knacks to put away in an attempt to clean).

Begrudgingly, John sat up, folding his legs into a cross-legged position while choosing not to look at the other, instead just puffing on his cigarette and holding it over the edge of the bed, tapping it with an index finger to shake off the ashes. It bounced under them, John's elbow knocking awkwardly against the side of the guitar as it did so; Paul settled himself down comfortably, placing the notebook between them and flipping to a new page, keeping it held open with his foot as he tucked the pen behind his ear, moving to position his calloused fingers on the neck of his guitar. 

"Yer a lefty." John blurted dumbly, and he wished he had never opened his stupid mouth. 

"Well spotted." Paul quipped with a hard stare, obviously not looking to put up with any bullshit and just get down to the business of things. Because that's what he was here for. Schoolwork. Nothing else. It was merely a transaction, collaborating on something so they could get passes in their classes and then move on with their lives. That was it. 

"Right, let's see..." John muttered, but more to himself; he positioned his fingers on the fretboard, striking a chord. It sounded out of tune and wrong, causing him to clench his jaw in frustration. Of course this would happen now! He had no idea how to tune the damn thing - there wasn't anyone who could teach him to do so, and Mimi certainly wasn't going to pay for any lessons. It always sounded fine on the banjo. Why didn't it stay the same for the guitar?

"That's a banjo chord." Paul raised his head, piercing gaze staring straight at him.

"Yeah, I know." John locked their eyes for a moment, brows knotted in confusion. "Why?-"

"They're wrong. Obviously banjo chords aren't going to work on a guitar." The boy rolled his eyes. "An' ye've tuned it to one as well! Honestly, how the ruddy hell did ye get into a music school?" He reached and snatched the guitar quickly, expert ears and hands working to tune it back to its normal melodies.

"Wh- I-" John stuttered, watching him in utter shock. "I didn't really get in fer guitar! Mainly piano and- and songwriting..." His voice got quieter and quieter as he tried to explain himself, insecurities bubbling to the surface and beginning to choke him with their incessant screeches. Oh god, Paul is gonna laugh at me. He's gonna know I'm a shit musician and I don't deserve to be at Quarrybank in the first place. I'm such an idiot. I should never have invited him over. 

He waited, eyes screwed shut, for the biting words to come - but there was nothing. He felt that Paul was staring at him again, and he allowed himself to wrench one open. The other was just looking at him, giving nothing away; except his eyes were guarded. 

"Sl- aren't ye gonna laugh at me?" He fully opened both eyes, relaxing in relief that Paul wasn't taking the mickey out of him. Why wasn't he, though? It seemed like something he would do.

"'m going to teach ye the proper chords." Was all Paul said, handing the guitar back to a stunned John, who plucked the strings and marvelled at its perfect tuning. Leave it to Paul to be better than me once again! He thought with an uttered curse. 

"No way-" He started.

"Look, if we're gonna get through this- ye need to know how ta play guitar. Properly." He fixed him with a hard stare once again. "'m not lettin' some prick land me with a fail 'cause of his incompetence." He turned back to his guitar, playing some soft chords.

"So 'm just 'some prick', huh?" John hissed bitterly.

Paul only scoffed, positioning his fingers to an 'A' chord. It pissed John off more than he thought possible, and he was about ready to whack that indifferent look off his face with a nice right hook. 

"C'mon, this is an 'A' chord. Hurry up." 

John reluctantly obliged, staring intently at the position of his fingers; but of course, he couldn't see it well, because he was as blind as a bat - so he stood up, opening up the top drawer of his chest of drawers and pulling out his glasses from where he had hidden it under his shirts, since he hadn't planned on using them. He went and sat back down across from Paul, slipping them on, grateful that everything was clear now. 

"You wear glasses?" Paul asked with a quizzical look, but something else flashed there momentarily. It was gone before John could recognise it. 

"Yeah, and what of it?" His gaze darkened, as if challenging Paul to say any more; thankfully, there was nothing, the boy just turning to look at his guitar again.

Glad that nothing more was said of it, he matched the position of Paul's fingers, pressing down hard to ensure a clear strum, not wanting to embarrass himself any more than he already had. Paul played it first, before John followed after - they matched, thank christ. 

"Good. Now, 'G' chord..." Paul moved his fingers into that position, and John fumbled to follow, trying to commit the chords to his memory; it would require a lengthy amount of practicing over the next few days to properly learn it all.

They continued like this for the next 20 minutes - Paul teaching chords, eventually repeating them over and over again when he had gone through all the basic chords, John hanging onto his every word to try and learn as quickly as possible. He absolutely hated it that he had to learn from him, of all people. It was why he never played in public or around other people, because he had never learned the proper chords. It embarrassed him to no end, he was ashamed of it. But he had learnt banjo chords from Julia, and he had never gotten lessons for guitar. He could have just asked Mr Martin or someone like that to teach him, but his ego wouldn't allow such a weak-looking thing to happen. It was stupid that he let it get in the way, but he couldn't help it; his insecurities begged and begged for him not to do it, because if he had to ask, then it would reveal the proper truth about him. That he wasn't a good musician. He was absolute shite, but he still tried to play into his fantasy of becoming the next Elvis, in hopes that maybe one day he could be loved by people, to be famous.

"I think we should get started on some sort of melody or lyrics, now." Paul eventually said, oblivious to the war going on inside John's head as he let his fingers fall from the strings, reaching to pluck the pen from behind his ear, tapping it against his lip as he transcended into thought, obviously trying to come up with something. 

Agreeing, the older did the same, leaning back against the headboard as he stretched out a leg against the wall, reaching to grab the discarded cig from where he had left it in the ashtray; it had burned to the ends, unfortunately, so he struck up another one, taking a puff, exhaling the comforting smoke, easing his tense muscles. His shin was inches from Paul's knee, he noted. But why on earth did that matter? Haha! 

"Ugh, can't ye wait til after I've fucked off ta smoke?" Paul's nose scrunched in disgust, waving his hand in front of his face as he glared daggers at the other, but to no avail; he just shrugged, watching the smoke fade into the air.

"Sorry, darl'," he drawled. "my house, my rules." He unfolded his other leg, letting it dangle off the edge of the bed, beginning to swing it back and forth. 

Paul said nothing more except let out an exasperated sigh, standing up and opening John's window, letting in the breezy air of the approaching autumn before joining him again. 

"Stop kickin' the bed or I'll start kickin' yer bollocks." Paul seethed.

"Sorry, your majesty-" The auburn-haired boy's voice dripped with lethargic sarcasm as he took another puff of the cig, "anythin' else ye request, your highness? Perhaps tea and crumpets? A royal pillow to sit yer egotistical arse down on, sire?" He battered his eyelashes with a wry grin.

"Don't fuckin' make this harder than it has to be, Lennon." Paul snarled. "If it weren't fer the fact tha' we're partners fer this stupid project, I'd bash ye to a pulp and never see yer sorry arse again. But unfortunately, we have ta deal with this. So shut the fuck up, stop complainin', and let's get on with our project." 

That promptly shut John up (for once). He was dying to say more; but he had to admit, Paul was right. There wasn't any point with tearing each other's heads off just to fail the task. It was better to just grin and bear it, getting the entire thing over and done with and passing it with all limbs intact. Then they don't have to speak to each other ever again unless absolutely necessary. 

So why did John not want it to end? Obviously, he didn't enjoy constantly fighting with him, but... there had to be something more. Anything. Something to indicate that maybe, they didn't have to be enemies. Oh, fuck off, John, a snivelling voice hissed into his ear. that's just wishful thinking at this point. Just get on with your work. You two will never be friends. 

He shook himself. He wouldn't let his thoughts get to him right now; he didn't want Paul to see him break down. Shutting out the voices in his head, he tentatively practiced some of the chords Paul had just taught him, trying to remember what positions matched what letter and all that nonsense. As he was fiddling, he heard Paul begin to strum a melody. 

"That's-" John immediately stopped himself before he would say anymore; but obviously, a light had turned on in Paul as well, the boy's eyes alight with recognition before he played the progression again, more sure of himself this time. 

"That's pretty good, eh?" Paul lifted his head to lock their eyes, and John swore he saw the corners of his lips curl up in a smile. A smile! John didn't think he had ever seen the other smile once since meeting him. It awoke something inside him, something that wanted to see it again - and wanting to be the reason for it. 

"Sure." John nodded. And with that, Paul scribbled down the progression to the notebook pages; he played it again, but something sounded wrong. The other seemed to have noticed it too, his eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly at hearing it.

An idea came to his head, and he lifted his guitar up.

"Wait, how about-" He paused, playing the melody but changing the last note to something higher. After doing so, his heart leapt with anxiety when he turned to look at Paul, wondering how he would react. Would he get angry that he tried to change something?

"Oh-" Paul was staring at him in actual shock, as if he didn't expect him to do something like that. Something was hidden in his expression, but he just nodded, bending down to write the different note in the book, John no longer being able to see his face.

He just brushed it off, playing the progression in his head over and over as he thought to himself. 

"I want to..." John was toying with lyrics, and something came to his mind. " hold your hand." 

"Huh?" Paul looked up in confusion, but John just held up a hand to silence him.

"I wanna hold your hand.." He sung it softly, trying to think of a melody to match it; 

"Wait!" Paul paused, "It should be-" he began to sing. "I wanna hold your hand," he sung the last word in a higher octave. His singing sent a shiver down John's spine, taking his breath away. Even though he had heard it before, it still sent shockwaves through his chest, piercing his mind with its honey-like smoothness.

"That's good! We got some lyrics, then-" John nodded, snatching the pen off of Paul - but when he did so, their fingers brushed, and they both fell dead silent, staring wide-eyed at each other. He felt his cheeks flush hot, palms sweating as butterflies burst in his stomach, making him feel slightly queasy. Holy fucking. Shit. John stop it. John stop. Stop it. 

He could see Paul was getting embarrassed too, his cheeks going pink before he leaned down, hiding his face from view as he pretended to be engaged in the task of coming up with lyrics. 

-

After that whole ordeal, things had luckily calmed down, the two working out some basic lyrics to go with the guitar, and the sun had very much had gone down, the moon halfway up its climb to the sky that had gone inky black, dotted with smearing speckles of stars. 

"Holy shit-" Paul breathed when he had looked out the window. "fuckin' shit, da's gonna kill me-" he leaped to his feet. During their session, he had taken off his jacket and shoes, and now was struggling to pull them on, gathering his belongings and shoving his guitar unceremoniously into its case.

"Naughty boy," John commented with a 'tsk', head resting in his hand as he watched Paul gather his stuff. "I don't recommend going through the house, though - Mimi'll freak if she thinks yer still here."

"Where the hell will I go then, John?" Paul turned to him with a deathly glare. "Not out yer window, I hope."

John said nothing, just stood up and leaned out the window, showing the pipe running along the outside wall, where Paul could slide down and escape to freedom.

"What! No fuckin' way-"

"Shut up an' just do it, woudja?" John rolled his eyes, hands on his hips in irritation. 

Huffing indignantly, Paul complied, strapping his guitar to his back and stuffing his notebook and pen in his pocket, climbing precariously onto John's desk, kicking over many items and papers, sending them flying to the floor as he squeezed out of the window, trying to reach and grab onto the pipeline.

"Watch it, yer knockin' all the shit off me desk." John crossed his arms, brow furrowed in resentment. 

"Poor little Lenny. Want a bandaid for yer boo-boo?" Paul faked a pout, and John just rolled his eyes, fury bubbling within his chest.

"Hurry up."

"Don't think we're becomin' friends 'cause of this, Lennon." Paul turned back to look at him once more, only the upper half of his body visible as he now was attached firmly to the pipe, holding on for dear life in case he fell. His face was dark and shadowed, his eyes sparking with animosity. 

"Wouldn't dream of it, knobhead." John just smiled sweetly. 

And with that, Paul slid clumsily down the pipe, almost tripping and falling when he reached the grass below. John quickly ducked out of view when he saw Paul look back up to the window, peering over the edge only just so he could stare down, but Paul wouldn't see him. 

Paul seemingly stood there for years, gaze fixed determinedly on the wall next to him, hands in his pockets. John couldn't see him clearly from where he was, so he couldn't tell what his expression looked like; but eventually, Paul turned away and strode off, looking haughty and egotistical as ever. But there was a certain tightness to his walk, and his shoulders were hunched when he picked up his bike, throwing a leg over and pushing off, riding down the street. 

John watched him go until he was out of sight, and even then he didn't take his gaze off the spot where he last saw Paul. There were so many emotions churning in his stomach, and he almost felt sick. Confused at Paul's unpredictable attitude, nervous as to the next time they would meet, excited at the new chords he just learnt, and sad at the turmoil in their budding relationship. He wished it didn't have to be this way. Why did Paul have to be so difficult?

"John!" Mimi's irritated voice called from below. "There's someone on the phone for you!"

He lifted his head, finally dragging his gaze away from where Paul disappeared down the street, pulling his window shut from the cold draft. Who the hell would be calling him right now? Ringo, probably. 

Going down the stairs, he took the phone from Mimi with a thanks before putting it to his ear.

"Yeah-'lo?" He leaned against the wall, waiting for a response.

"Hi- is this John Lennon?" A soft, sweet girl's voice sounded from the other end. It was familiar.

"Yeah. Who's this?" His brows furrowed. Was it?-

"Cynthia," She answered. Oh. "from Pete's party last week. Do you remember?" 

"Of course, love." He half-smiled, deciding to turn on the charm a bit. Maybe she could help him distract himself from the absolutely enticing mess that was Paul McCartney. "How could I forget?"

She giggled warmly. "I was wondering..." There was a pause. "Want to go out after school tomorrow? I know this nice cafe near where Stuart said your school was." 

"Oh- I think I know what yer talkin' about." He thought of Tiffany's cafe that was just down the road from the music academy. "Yeah, that'd be gear. I'll pick you up at 4?"

"Sure. My address is," she listed her address, and John grabbed the nearest piece of paper and pen to write it down. 

"I'll see you then, eh, dear?" John smiled. 

"You will. I've got to go now," He could hear the smile in her own voice. "see you then."

"Bye."   
There was a click. 

John put the phone back on the holder. He expected to feel a jolt of excitement in his veins, but he only felt hollow. 

Moving so slowly, in a dream-like state, he ascended the stairs again and sat on his bed, grabbing his guitar and resting it in his lap.

For the rest of the night he practiced the guitar chords Paul taught him before he was called down for dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo yo hope yal enjoyed this chap! it was fun to write (:


	4. 4 ;; practice

_John was running, chasing after this figure that was calling his name. The figure kept calling his name over and over again, and as they ran through the deserted hallways of the school, he noticed the hallways were filling up with tattered, worn out notebooks, flooding from the lockers and out the classroom doors, making him have to leap and jump over them just to avoid tripping over them. He felt like there were people staring at him from behind, but when he looked, there was no one; the voice was getting louder now, more clearer, but he couldn't identify why it sounded familiar. The figure was getting further and further away, and he tripped on one of the notebooks, crashing to the floor.  
Suddenly, the figure was above him, but he couldn't make out their face from where he was on the floor._

_The figure spoke,  
"Get up, John!" It was quiet at first. "Get up! For goodnesses' sake-" They grew louder as everything began to fade away, and suddenly he was floating in a inky void, the figure still hovering above him._

"John!"

"I'mnotebookswha-" He flew awake, clutching onto the sheets for a moment as he stared at his surroundings. He was at home, in his bed, and blurry Elvis and Brigitte stared at him from their positions on the wall at the foot of his resting place. Suddenly, as the last wisps of the dream slipped from his mind, exhaustion came rushing back and he fell back into bed, groaning at the pounding in his head. It must've only been an hour since he finally fell asleep! 

"Let's not wait for the grass to grow!" There was a quiet, but firm knock and he recognised Mimi's voice from behind the bedroom door, before there were steadfast footsteps disappearing down the stairs. 

"Shit.." He grumbled to himself, feeling his eyes slip closed again. John laid there, trying to come to his surroundings, but he felt the ever-so-tempting walls of sleep closing in on him, dragging him into its depths while he struggled to keep to the surface.   
It took him so long to sleep last night. The last time he checked the clock on his desk, it was around 5:17am and then he was out from there. He barely got a wink of sleep.

And it was all because of one certain person. Paul.  
The boy had invaded his thoughts like a nosy little kid, always persisting as he stewed over the events of what had happened a few hours before. 

Their interaction was equally baffling and aggravating, and especially overwhelming. The boy seemed such a complex character, so stubborn and closed-off from seemingly everything - except George, the only example John could think of when it came to what Paul cut himself off from. And music, too. It frustrated him to no end. He lay awake, lamenting over what had happened and trying to come up with ways to get through to Paul. To break through the rough, carefully-built walls that surrounded the enchanting doe-eyed boy. He could see it. The boy was hiding something from others, or at least hiding away from something. He saw it in Paul, and he wanted to find a way to get through to him. But he couldn't exactly help getting a little annoyed with him when the boy was a total twit!

He shut his eyes tightly, angry that he was letting him take over his thoughts again. Instead, he just tried to focus on the warm confines of sleep. It wouldn't hurt to have 5 more minutes, right? 

-

"Oi! Fuckin' bellend.. John! Get up!" A voice called in his ear, hands shaking his shoulders vigorously.

"Wh- gah!" John's eyes peeled open as he scooted back, being bluntly ripped from his slumber for the second time that morning. Who the fuck is it now? Fumbling for his glasses on the table next to him, he slid them on to see Ringo standing above him, fully dressed for school.

"Ringo? What the hell you doin' 'ere?" Speaking made pain shoot down his raw, dry throat, and he swallowed uncomfortably, reaching to rub at the skin as he stared up at his friend. He hadn't dreamed the second time round, though - thank christ.

"Yer fuckin' late again! I had to climb through your window. I was waitin' forever, so I came to see what was goin' on." Exasperation was rolling off the boy in waves, and his arms were crossed tightly over his chest. "Now hurry up and let's go."

"Usually ye just go on without me?" John blinked in confusion, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed before standing up. He let out a fatigue-laced yawn as he stretched his cramped limbs. 

"I know, but I wanted to talk about yesterday!" If John had turned around while he was finding the missing pieces of his uniform from last night, he would have seen Ringo's azure eyes shining in a half-suppressed excitement. 

"Oh, if ya mean I couldn't come to the chippy-" John started, thinking it was the reason why Ringo was so jumpy - but he was wrong, of course.

"No, no!" Ringo shook his head, rolling his eyes before sitting on John's desk, striking up a cigarette. "I hung out with George." 

"Really?" John raised an eyebrow while he buttoned up his shirt, pulling on his tie (he always left it done up, and only loosened and tightened it to fit it around his head. He never bothered to learn how to do a tie) afterwards. "Sounds like yer really becomin' best buddies." He couldn't stop the taint of bitterness in his words, feeling a little jealous that George and Ringo seemed to get on so well when him and Paul were the total opposite.

"I wouldn't say that." Ringo sounded embarrassed, almost - and John whipped around in shock, halting his movements of pulling on a sock. Now he was much more interested. What exactly was the nature of their relationship?

"What would you say then?" He turned back to getting dressed to ensure they wouldn't be any later to school then they already were.

"I'd say we're like, just on the verge of becomin' friends. We only really hung out to work on our song, but in the end we didn't get much work done." The older shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. "We talked fer a while, about all sorts of things. When we talked about somethin' he was particularly interested in, he actually became a total chatterbox!" Ringo giggled. Actually giggled. 

"Woah, woah, woah-" John held up a hand. "yer weirdin' me out a bit, Ringo," he looked him in the eye, letting himself smirk. "yer soundin' a bit like a dizzy bird with a crush."

"Wh-I-" Ringo spluttered, totally off guard - his cheeks went a beet red, and John couldn't help but grin gleefully. He had obviously hit a weak spot. "no way! John, yer seein' this in a very different light to what it actually is." He glared at the boy, crossing his arms, though there wasn't any real anger in his eyes. "'m just surprised we're becomin' friends, that's all. I'm glad for it. There's nothin' wrong with that."He took a puff of his cig.

"Never said there was." John shrugged as he pocketed his house keys, throwing his guitar case over his back and collecting the books he brought home. "C'mon, we can talk as we walk." (that rhymed! John thought.) 

Descending the stairs, they exited through the front door since Mimi had already left for work a while ago; so they were in the clear to leave that way and go off to school undetected. Setting off down the street, John shoved a hand in his pocket to take out his cigs, Ringo lighting it with his lighter. He breathed in the smoke gratefully. 

"George seems a fab guy, is all." His friend sighed. "Not who we thought he was."

John thought for a moment. "Has he said anythin' about Paul?" He wished he hadn't said anything as soon as the words came out of his mouth, and he turned to look at the passing houses, taking a drag of his cigarette so he wouldn't have to see Ringo's expression.

"No, not really. We don't talk about things like that." Ringo's brows furrowed, but John didn't see. "Why do ya wanna know?" The younger could feel his eyes burning into the side of his head.

"W-what? Nothing." John looked down at the ground, suddenly flustered. Shit, Ringo would see right through him, of course. "Doesn't matter." Why did he have to go around asking stupid things like that? You hate Paul, remember! 

Thankfully, the other boy didn't push it any further. They just picked up their pace to make it to school on time. 

Eventually they came upon the looming walls of the academy, jumping the closed fence and hurrying off to their shared English class; when they made it, the kids looked up as they burst through the door and the teacher fell silent, glaring at them for interrupting his lesson.

"Hi, sorry we're late-" John spoke breathlessly, scanning for a spot where they could sit.

"That's the second time in three days, Lennon, Starr - according to the other teachers." Mr Phelps stared down at them with his hands on his bony hips. "Detention for both of you after school. Now sit."

Both of them gaped. 

"Sit." He commanded again. 

They complied, but muttered mutinous profanities the entire time. It seemed there were only two spots left in the row second to last, and guess who? George was on the end that was up against the wall. 

"Thanks for makin' me late and landin' us detention, John." Ringo sighed, taking the seat next to George. He didn't seem to notice the younger at first, though. 

"You're the one who came and woke me up!" John protested, dumping his books on the desk a bit too forcefully, causing people to glance in their direction briefly. John just made a face at them and they turned away, some giggling at his usual Lennon Antics.

"Yeah, well-" Ringo fell silent, and John turned to see him looking at George. "oh! Hey, Geo." 

He has a nickname now? John thought with a resentful glare. Why don't they just get married already? 

"Aye, Ringo." George's lips curled up in a smile, and he rested his bony elbows on the desk, turning his body to face Ringo. John could tell Ringo's eyes would be shining, even though his friend was turned away from him. George didn't greet John, though - either from the fact he seemed so caught up with Ringo that he didn't notice him there, or that he was pointedly ignoring him, John didn't know.

"Wanna hang out at recess? I bought this new Little Richard record, I wanna show you!" Ringo's voice was laced with delight at the prospect of owning a new record - and John froze.

He bought a new record, and didn't even bother to tell John?! His heart sank horrifyingly, but the envy and outrage surging in his stomach was stronger; it seemed as soon as Brows came into their life, Ringo got all caught up in him and already was telling him stuff before John. 

It was always something that scared him. He always knew Ringo would eventually find a friend better than John - someone who was kinder, who was more sympathetic, more talented, funnier, much cooler than he could ever be. Maybe that was happening now. And Ringo would forget all about him and he would be left behind. 

I don't want it to happen yet! He begged. I still need Ringo with me. There was another voice, the snivelling one; well, have you ever considered the fact that he doesn't need you anymore?   
He shut his eyes tightly, the grip on his pencil so tight his knuckles went white, trying as hard as he could to shut the voice out. He didn't want it to get to him.

"John? Are you alright?" Ringo's gentle voice cut through it, and there was a warm hand on his shoulder, concerned eyes trained on him.

"Huh?" He turned to him, almost bewildered as he came back to reality. He felt like he had just disappeared to an entirely different universe.

"I said, are you okay? I can see somethin's troublin' you." As always, Ringo could see right through him, no matter what he did.

"Oh.." He trailed off, at a loss of what to say. Maybe.. Ringo still was his friend. He didn't need to get in a twist over the fact that he was making friends with George. He probably just forgot to mention the record thing. "'m fine. Don't worry about me, son." He pulled the older's head into a headlock, ruffling his quiffed hair with his usual mischievous grin, trying to forget the whole ordeal.

"Gerroff!" Ringo struggled to get out of John's iron-strong hold, but John held still, snickering to himself.

"Not until you admit I'm more handsome than ya." 

"Never!" Ringo gasped mockingly, jabbing him in the side and causing John to let go, letting out a yelp.

"I'll get ya for this, Starkey!-" He held up his hands in fists, the two glaring playfully as they got ready to fight.

"Boys! Stop fighting, or you'll get lunch detention too." The teacher shut them both up with a stern look.

"He started it!" They both pointed at each other, eyes wide. It caused the other kids to giggle, even stony George cracking a smile. 

The teacher only rolled their eyes, calling a "behave," behind his shoulder before turning back to the chalkboard. 

-

Recess came around, and John was grabbing a tray from the stack next to the display of food in the cafeteria, picking off some sort of ancient sauce that had embedded itself into the plastic with a grimace. 

Ringo had already gotten them a table with both Pete's and Stuart, so John was just going to get a drink and a sandwich before joining them. The cafeteria was teeming with students, pretty much every table being occupied, some even sitting in circles on the floor, against the wall. They were lucky they got a table. But it wasn't like any of the other kids would deny the John Lennon Gang a table if they asked, anyway.

As he reached the drink section, he noticed a familiar dark head of hair standing there, looking at the selection with his arched brows ever so slightly furrowed. 

Shit! John froze, anxiety rising in his chest for a moment, suddenly nervous as his cheeks flushed. He felt as if Paul knew he stayed up all night thinking about him somehow, even thought that wasn't true at all. He sucked in a breath.

Stop being a fucking idiot and just go get a drink. It's not that hard. He chanted those words to himself as he walked up. He chose not to look at Paul at all so he wouldn't have to see his expression or get caught up in his leafy, ever-changing eyes - what? He shook himself. Shut up, John. 

Staring at the drinks, he spotted what exactly he was looking for; the last chocolate milk! He put down his tray on the bench. He would get it before anyone else would, then he would be on his merry way and he wouldn't have to keep noticing the fact that Paul's arm was only inches from his. So, he reached out a hand to grab it;

But suddenly, Paul was reaching for it too. Neither noticed until their fingertips brushed, almost grabbing onto each other's hands instead of the milk. Paul pulled away as if he had been burnt, and John felt every hair on his arm stand on his end as he jumped away. Oh god. John's cheeks flamed, heart racing as they locked eyes. He felt terribly flustered, and he could feel the electricity that was bouncing off their bodies between them.

Paul was staring at him in utter shock, his own cheeks deep pink as well, eyes wide as dinner plates and plump lips parted. Something else was embedded behind his eyes, too, but he quickly grew guarded, gaze ducking to the floor with embarrassment biting his lip. 

Quickly, John grabbed the milk while Paul was distracted, triumph coursing through him as Paul looked up, expression contorting in indignation when he saw John had the milk.

"Sorry, princess, finders' keepers." He lifted the drink in front of him, as if mocking him with his prize, making a pouty face as Paul glared mutinously at him.

"Whatever," Paul muttered, before promptly grabbing an orange juice and stomping off. "prick." The last word was uttered so quietly that John almost didn't hear, and he didn't think he was supposed to in the first place. 

It still made him scoff and irritatedly clench his teeth, but he said nothing. Instead, he took his tray and milk and moved to the sandwich section, picking out a ham and cheese. He payed then walked off to find the table Ringo and his friends had saved.

"Oi, John! Why the long face?" Stuart called when he came over, scooting over so he could sit; John did so, replying to Stuart's question with a grunt. "Bird troubles?"

"Paul troubles, more like." Ringo snickered, and John kicked his shin from under the table with a warning glare. "Ow!" His friend laughed harder, clutching his shin with a playful glare shot his way. 

"The hell is he on about? Paul troubles?" Pete Shotton asked from Stuart's other side, gazing at John with interest in his gaze, munching on a soggy chip.

"Y'know, the new kid." Ringo crossed his arms on the table, tilting his head.

John's eyes travelled across the room, scanning hungrily for the boy in questions; he eventually spotted him walking out of the cafeteria, meeting up with George before the two disappeared around the corner. 

"Ah! Heard ye have him as a partner, Lenny!" Pete Best spoke up with a laugh, nudging John with his foot, pulling him from his reverie. "Sucks that yer stuck with the faggy." They all snickered - except for Ringo and John, who just faked a smile, John's expression troubled.

"I've heard they lure in victims and fuck 'em behind the footy field seats!" Blonde Pete guffawed, the others snickering at his joke as well, but still nothing from John or Ringo. The former noticed Ringo's eyes blaze with fury.

There was an unexplainable rage in John's veins at those hurtful jokes, and he shoved Pete a little harsher than he intended to, rolling his eyes.

"Oi, come off it now, wouldja?"

"Ah, John. Yer always the hero of the bunch." Stuart laughed. John noticed he wasn't finding the jokes either Pete were making as funny as John expected him to.

"What? Don't tell me ye've become friends with the twats, have ya?" Blonde Pete shoved John back, taking an obnoxious bite of his sandwich. 

"No!" John protested with a scoff. "As if." He still felt sadness tug at him at those words, though. "Just stop bein' a prick."

"Alright, your highness." Brown-haired Pete held up his hands, and they laughed before Stuart changed the subject.

-

"Welcome back, class!" Mr. Martin called out to settle the rowdy students who were joking and throwing things across the room. After a few seconds, they eventually fell silent, and John rested his head in his hand from his spot next to Ringo.

"I hope you're all getting on with your partners. This class, I just want you all to work on the song; you're allowed to go and work outside or in the hallway, if it's better for you. Just be back inside 5 minutes before class ends." He waved them off, turning to do work at his desk as they all started up again, moving to go to their partners.

So, John stood up, saying a goodbye to Ringo before he made his way to Paul. He felt awkward after the whole ordeal with Stuart and both Pete's, but he tried to leave it behind as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Let's get on with it then, eh?" John spoke up, catching Paul's attention who was buried in a book. The boy looked up in mild surprise, before he slipped a bookmark into the page he was at and shut it.

Gaze darting to the cover, he read the letters "Alice in Wonderland". His heart leapt and his eyes widened with shock. His favourite book ever! And Paul was reading it! Why did that make him feel really happy? 

"Alice in Wonderland. That's me favourite." He commented, trying to come off as nonchalant as possible, watching Paul get to his feet and gather his stuff, his guitar case bumping against his back.

"Really? It's a great book." Paul agreed. John noticed that Paul seemed a lot less hostile than he usually was, but his countenance was still very much guarded and distant as he looked back at the book. "Also-" He paused, looking up. "Let's go somewhere quieter, aye? It'll work better if it's just the two of us." 

John almost froze for a moment, a jolt in his veins at those words. For fucks sake, John! Stop reading a different meaning into words. It was nothing. He shook himself, coughing awkwardly and nodding. 

"Uh- yeah, sure."

Paul seemed to have noticed his stumbling, and only raised an eyebrow, saying nothing on it.

With that, the two left the classroom, John sending a stupid face and a wink in Ringo's direction, who snickered and gave him the finger before they left. Walking through the deserted hallways, the older couldn't seem to calm himself, feeling nervousness and anxiety clinging to him like a bad smell, tapping against his thigh as he followed Paul to the back doors. Play it cool, Lennon! Its not a big deal. 

As they exited through the back doors, John stared out at the oval, and the football field further off, the stands on either side. Paul was making his way across the oval seemingly towards the football field, and John followed behind. The joke was coming out before he could stop it.

"Gonna take me behind the footy stands, then?"

"Fuck off, knobhead." Paul growled, sending him a furious dagger-filled glare before turning away, continuing their trek across the grass. 

"Sorry." John muttered, feeling bad that he made that joke.

The grass below his feet were slippery with morning dew, and a cool breeze ruffled John's hair; staring up at the sky, it was a blanket of white, with occasional smears of grey that screamed rain. He could even smell it a bit in the damp air. 

"Let's work next to the stands. It'll shield from the wind." Paul spoke up again as they reached the football field, which had significantly greener and lusher grass. 

"Okay," they reached the stands and John plonked on the ground, taking off his guitar case around his back and crossing his legs, opening up the case to pull out his precious item. Paul followed suit, opening up his notebook to the page where they had been working on the song. They only had a few lines of lyric and a base for a chorus, and a chord progression written down. A lot more work had to be done. 

John put on his glasses. 

_I want to hold your hand lyrics  
____________________  
Lennon - McCartney_

_Oh yeah I'll - tell you somethin'  
I think you'll know about X // - understand   
When I tell that somethin' (?)   
I want to hold your hand x 3_

_?? - Say to me  
You'll let me be your man_

Something John noticed was 'Lennon - McCartney', and he stared in surprise. That wasn't there when Paul was over last night. Did he add that in?? For some reason, a surge of happiness ran through his stomach, a flutter of butterflies accompanying it. Why did that send his heart racing? 

"Let's get to work!" Paul clapped his hands together, running a hand through his hair and biting the end of his pen; John couldn't help but find it unbelievably cute. Fuck, stop it John! You sound like a bloody schoolgirl with a crush. 

So they worked. John mainly worked on the lyrics part, Paul coming up with melodies and chords to go along with it. A silence fell over them, but it wasn't necessarily awkward or tense - they both were just intent in their work, forgetting their animosity momentarily so they could work on some music. It seemed to unite them, both looking past their differences to bond over their shared love of music. It was truly invigorating. 

After about an hour, John noticed that they were going to have to come in soon due to it being the end of the lesson - and looking up at the sky, he saw the clouds had darkened, and he knew rain was about to come down on them.

"Right- let's play through it together, just once." Paul suggested, putting down his pen and adjusting his guitar in his lap, locking eyes with John.

He gulped; he didn't know whether he could keep up with Paul. What if he fucked up in front of him?

"Alright." He agreed, against every instinct inside him screaming not to. He looked down at the chords on the paper, adjusting his fingers accordingly and waiting patiently for Paul to count them in.

"1, 2 3-" He did as expected, and they flew into song. 

"Oh yeah, I'll tell you somethin'," Their voices began in unison, mingling together in the autumn air and rising above them, sounding like the perfect melody. John revelled in the way their voices mixed together, seemingly perfect for each other, perfectly complimenting and suiting. It almost sent him off course at how good they sounded together. 

"I think you'll understand," Paul's eyes locked with his, his gaze intense and never blinking as they played. Both made a few mistakes as they went, but it was expected, as the song still wasn't finished yet.

"When I say that somethin'-" 

"I wanna hold your hand," Paul's voice rose to a high octave while John kept his low, and they both actually giggled to themselves, terribly pleased at how the song actually seemed decent and their voices complimented each other so well. Joy soared in John's chest, and he could see Paul's eyes glow with happiness himself. 

"I wanna hold your ha-and! I wanna hold your hand," John lifted his head and sung in a silly voice, making a stupid face that caused Paul to smile a little - he had smiled! John could kiss him. I mean, what?

"Oh please, say to me," They pushed on. 

"You'll let me be your m-" Suddenly, they fell short - rain had began to fall down, and the notebook's dry pages were riddled with raindrops. 

"Fuck!" John cursed out loud, and they hastily gathered their things in the steadily rapid rain spilling down from the heavens, trying to shield their stuff from its drops. 

"Quickly, uh-"   
Paul shot away towards the underside of the football stands to dry area, and John followed suit; but he slipped on the grass as he got under the stands and he crashed right into Paul.

He let out an 'oof!' as the breath was knocked out of him, but strong hands grabbed onto him and prevented him from falling any further. His breath hitched and they froze in position, Paul's arms around his back and John's resting on the formers shoulders. Slowly, the older lifted his head, pushing up his glasses that had slipped to the end of his nose; their eyes met, and suddenly they couldn't look away.

Seeing Paul so close up and in good definition was daunting. His shiny, ebony locks were flattened and seemingly even darker with water, and drops of it rolled down his forehead and a slender nose. It clung to dark eyelashes, and his mossy green eyes stared up at him, shocked and unguarded. John noticed a drop of water hanging on the tip of his upturned nose that eventually dropped onto his upper lip, guiding his gaze down to his dark, plump lips. They were parted, revealing a glint of white teeth, and they shone with water. 

God, he wanted to kiss him. He wanted to wipe that insanely hot expression of innocent surprise and connect their lips. Run his hand through those thick locks. It was so fucking tempting.

Their hot breaths mixed in the air, tension crackling like lighting between them, their chests pressed up against each other. Paul's hands burnt prints against his back, and he swore he would melt right then and there. Their faces were inches away, their gazes level since they were the same height; Paul was taller by a millimetre, so John had to look up, but only just. 

But suddenly, the trance was broken when Paul blinked, scrambling away from John and out into the rain above them, his stance becoming guarded and embarrassed as his walls began to build up around him, closing him off as quickly as they had come down.

"Sorry, I uh-" The boy licked his lips. "gotta go. To somethin'. Uhm-" His hands fidgeted. "yeah. But- wait!" He started, holding up a hand as if to stop John from leaving. The older hadn't even moved from his position, still absolutely dumbfounded. "Let's meet at the gates after school. We can keep working on it." There was a pause. "The song, I mean." 

"I have detention." John stared foolishly.

"I can wait." Paul stared back.

There was silence.

Eventually, Paul stopped waiting for a response and he began to walk away, apparently not even noticing the rain anymore as he went. Seeing him go snapped John out of his stupor, and he dashed out into the rain, calling out.

"Paul!"

The boy froze in his position, but didn't turn to look.

"Why are you actin' like this?" John's voice was hoarse. 

"Like what?" Paul turned around, his entire countenance suddenly hostile. "What the hell am I doin' now?" 

"Why are you bein' so difficult? We-" John fell short. "we could be friends! Why does it have ta be this way?"

Paul stared in an enraged silence, and John knew he said absolutely the wrong thing.

"Fuckin' forget it, then." He whipped around and made a dash for the school. 

"N-No-" John stuttered, searching for the right words to apologise. "Wait!" His voice rose to a desperate yell, and he sprinted after him. 

Paul didn't slow down. He sped across the grass and shoved the back doors open, disappearing inside.   
John cried his name in desperation to get him to stop, but to no avail; when he reached the back doors and entered the hallway, there was no one.

Paul was gone.

And John knew he was back at square one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AH gave this out early lol. also bruhh they rly are stupid arent they :/


	5. 5 ;; date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay guys! here is new chapter (:

"I better not catch you in here again for at least a few days, Mr Lennon." The detention woman (John never remembered her name) stared down at him with contempt from her half-moon glasses that rested on the end of her large nose, obviously greying hair framing her pale face.

"Don't count on it, miss." His smile was acerbic, and he promptly left the stuffy, dull classroom, a few other kids saying goodbyes to him as they all made their way out.  
"See you tomorrow, John." Ringo smiled at him before he left, John giving a faint goodbye back as his friend disappeared out the front doors.

The hallways were barren, a sight that John was beginning to familiarise himself with, due to the fact that he was late almost every morning. The other kids that had been in detention with him were already gone, but he stayed rooted to the spot for a while longer. He wondered if Paul would actually be outside, waiting for him - he doubted it, somewhat; with their rocky last encounter, the boy probably would be long gone. But he still hoped anyway, like a bird trapped in his throat, fighting to escape. Why would he be hoping anyway? Not like he wanted to hang out with him! He was a total chuffer! Scuffing the ground with his untied shoe, he braced himself to leave the hallway, and see if Paul really had waited for him or not. But as he was about to leave, footsteps echoed through the deserted hallway and he turned to see who it was.

"Run along now, Mr Lennon. Wouldn't want to keep your aunt waiting, now, would we?" The man's kind eyes twinkled down at him as he adjusted the leather bag slung over his shoulder.

"Yes, Principal Epstein." John nodded, not really feeling up to making jokes or pissing the man off. Epstein was unfailingly kind to John, and saw the potential in him - even when John himself, did not - and always encouraged him to pursue things or get back on track when he was losing his way. It was probably the reason why he was still at the school and not expelled after being such a troublemaker 24/7. He secretly looked up to Brian, even if he enjoyed getting on him and the staff's nerves.

"I've heard you and that Paul have had some problems getting along. I hope you're trying your best to make him feel welcome at this school." Brian's demeanour turned strict for a moment as they began walking to the front doors. John felt his ears burn with embarrassment. 

"Of course I am!" He protested, pushing open the doors and stepping onto the pavement.

"Alright. I'll take your word for it. Goodbye, John," The principal just sighed before nodding goodbye and leaving John alone on the front steps.

 _How can I explain to them that Paul doesn't exactly make it easy on me either?_ He thought bitterly to himself, hands shoved in his pockets. Lifting his gaze, he scanned the front area to see if Paul was there, that nervous sort of hope tightening his throat again at the prospect; but upon closer inspection, he noticed the doe-eyed boy was nowhere to be seen.

Disappointment hung like a rain cloud over his head. Of course, he hadn't really expected the boy to be there, I mean - they fought constantly and the last time they spent time together was inherently awkward and ended in yet another fight. Why would have Paul subjected himself to that again (any more than he had to, at least)? But... he still felt disappointment tug at his sinking heart. He had almost hoped that he would be there. But he wouldn't admit that to himself, of course. Not yet.   
Pulling himself together, he adjusted the guitar case on his back. No need to get in a twist over it! At least there are now less hours spent fighting with him. He might as well go home and enjoy himself. 

Pulling out his pack of cigarettes, he shook one out; he noticed it was the last one in the packet, unfortunately. He made a mental note to buy more tomorrow. Striking it up, he took a long drag, letting the comforting acrid tang of smoke flood his lungs and spill from his nostrils. He was walking out of the school gates, veering right to make his way home - when he noticed two people across the street. A couple, nothing special. Just a young girl and boy, holding hands as they walked on the street opposite, whispering excitedly to each other. 

_Cynthia!_ He suddenly thought with a jolt. Their date! He had completely forgotten all about it, being so caught up with Paul and detention. The girl was probably waiting at her house, all dressed up for the date, upset that he had stood her up. Goddamnit, why was he such an idiot??

"Fuckin' hell.." He cursed as he rubbed his temple, picking up the pace. He glanced at his wrists to see if he had a watch, but of course, nothing. _Why am I surprised? I never wear a watch._ He started to run, guitar case slamming against his back uncomfortably as he discarded his cigarette, needing to get home as soon as possible. He hadn't brought the paper that had her address on it, either - and he had completely forgotten what it was. He continued scrambling through the streets, ignoring stares from the people he ran past as he entered the more crowded part of the city, booking it right to his house; but he slammed into a man when he rounded a corner, almost falling flat on his stomach, but he caught himself in time. The second time he ran into someone that week.

"Watch yourself, prick!" The man glared at him. John was unaffected, of course. Instead, his gaze darted to his wrists, and he lit up when he saw a shiny, golden watch on his left.

"What's the time?" He tapped his fingers against his thighs with an impatience, knowing he really had to get his ass moving if he didn't want to be any later than he already was.   
The man stared at him for a few seconds, before looking at his watch.

"4:30."

"Cheers! Sorry!" And with that, he took off. _Half an hour!_ Not the worst thing ever. He'd been much later for lots of things. But he knew he'd better hurry so it wouldn't be any worse.   
Finally, he made it to Menlove Avenue, completely out of breath and sweat beginning to break out on his forehead, having not run as fast as that for a while, the only other exception being the Bus Escapade. That was more fun than this, though. John leant on his hands for a few seconds, crouching outside the door to catch his breath, before he pulled out his house keys from his pocket. Unlocking the door, he hurried inside, door slamming behind him as he bounded up to his room to get ready.

"What's all this hurry, John?" Mimi's curious voice called from the kitchen. "You came home late."

"Had detention!" He threw back, quickly tossing his guitar on his bed and stripping himself of his school clothes; John muttered to himself all the while. "The hell am I gonna wear..?" 

"John! For goodnesses' sake, _again?_ "   
There were footsteps coming up the stairs.

"Sorry! Promise there'll be no more this week." He opened his wardrobe, scouring the entire selection of clothes for something to wear. "Wait, don't come in! 'm gettin' changed." 

"Why the rush? Are you going somewhere?" He could almost imagine the woman standing there with her hands on her hips, demanding an explanation with one looming stare.

"Yeah. Got a date." 

During their conversation, he picked out his favourite red-checkered shirt, black trousers, a leather jacket and some beat up black sneakers; _perfect,_ John thought as he began to hurriedly pull them on. He lathered on plenty of deodorant as well, since he hadn't the chance to have a shower and he didn't exactly smell all too fresh at that moment, and after dressing - he darted out his door to get to the bathroom.

"With who? That Amelia girl again?" Mimi was standing at the top of the stairs, carrying a cup that she was drying with a tea towel, watching her nephew flit past her.

"No," He stood in front of the mirror, too caught up in combing his hair back and streaking Vaseline along the sides to really talk, willing the auburn locks to do as requested and transform into a (somewhat) acceptable teddy boy quiff. After a few seconds of trying to perfect the curls on top, he deemed it good enough and ran from the bathroom. He looked up at the clock on the wall; 4:40. _I better hurry up._

"Be back by dinner!" Mimi called after him as he slid past, reaching into Mimi's purse on the drawers in the front hallway to steal a couple of pounds and a cigarette packet lying next to it before throwing the door open. "I- _John Winston Lennon!"_ She screeched when he saw him snatch the money, storming across the hall to reach him.

"I'll pay you back! Bye!"  
He sent a sheepish grin her way before slamming the door after him. 

So as not to be caught and murdered by his aunt, he booked it out the front garden and down the street, checking the piece of paper with Cynthia's address scribbled on it; "Hoylake.." He muttered to himself. John hoped to god that the girl wouldn't be too mad that he was late - it wasn't his fault, exactly, because he had detention and was stuck at school. Well, it was his fault, technically, since he landed himself the detention.. but you get my point. But he hoped they'd still be able to go on the date. From what he'd seen of Cynthia, she seemed to be the forgiving type. He didn't know whether that was bad or good.

Eventually he reached the house, and he stared at it, out of breath. Looking down, he checked himself out for the last time in a puddle at his feet (it was still wet, but it had stopped raining back when he was in detention. The clouds were still dark and ominous so he figured it would rain again soon). Holding his fidgeting hands behind his back, he stepped up to the front door and knocked firmly. Dead silence followed for several seconds, and he felt the anxiety rise in his chest with each passing moment, worried that she would see him from the window and not open the door at all. He scuffed his foot against the wet concrete, hoping that it would at least be Cynthia opening the door and not her father or something. A cold shiver ran down his spine thinking of her dad answering instead.

"Hel- oh," The door opened up, and - thank christ - it was Cynthia. She looked a bit miffed and she crossed her arms as she gazed at John, obviously demanding an explanation. "John."

"Hi Cyn," he started, feeling guilt wrack his bones for being so late. "I'm really sorry fer bein' late. But I had detention an' I couldn't get out 'til now." He smiled apologetically and held out a hand, tilting his head in question. "Forgive me?"

She watched him for a few seconds more before sighing, face lighting up as she took it, entwining their hands as she shut the door behind her. "Being a naughty boy, eh?"   
Her eyes twinkled up at him, and they set off down the street to go to the cafe they had planned on going to together. 

"You know it," he winked. He tried not to notice the way she smiled uncontrollably and giggled. "I seem to 'ave a habit of bein' late. Get locked up in detention a lot for it."

"I can see that." She joked as they walked, carefully avoiding puddles scattered across the streets. John hoped it wouldn't rain at any point on their date. "Is there anything you're _not_ late to?" She teased.

"Any of our future dates. I can promise that, love." He grinned down at her, but couldn't help but feel incredibly awkward when she ducked her head and giggled, seemingly enamoured with every word he said. It's not every day you get to go on a date with _the_ John Lennon, after all! According to most people in the popular kids' circle. And what Cynthia thought of him too, probably. 

"Are you hungry, by the way? I heard they have really good fish and chips." 

John was about to reply, but something caught his eye from his peripheral vision. His hold on Cynthia's hand loosened and he stared in shock when he saw him, butterflies exploding in his stomach and pressing against his skin as he felt his cheeks go beet red. 

Paul seemed just as shocked to see him as well, since he stopped in his motion of talking to George beside him and stared, eyes wide and hungrily scanning the two on their date. George noticed Paul had trailed off, and he spotted the two he was staring at fairly quickly, expression changing to mild interest. 

"You alright, John?" Cynthia spoke from beside him, snapping him out of his daze. Her hand came up to touch his arm, and he entwined their hands again. 

Doing this, John noticed Paul's expression change, but he was too faraway to see it. Before he could do anything more, Paul turned away and he and George quickly left the scene, George looking back one more time before whispering something quickly into Paul's ear. Then they were around the corner and gone.

"Oh, sorry Cyn. Just ... saw someone I knew." He turned to her with a reassuring smile, skimming his thumb along the back of her hand before they started off again. 

"Were those the new kids are your school? I heard people saying they were..." she trailed off, looking worried and actually kind of _scared_. "y'know. Ho-"

"I know." He cut her off, voice taut as he struggled to control his emotions. _Calm down, John. She doesn't know about you._ He took a breath, and sighed in relief when he spotted the cafe at the end of the street. "Here we are." He decided to change the subject. _I know, but she still hates homos._ That voice sneered in his ear again.

"Great! I'm hungry." She brightened, all traces of previous fear gone as they hurried to get into _Tiffany's Cafe_.

Pushing open the swinging front doors, they entered the warm, cosy building. It was modest but welcoming; checkered tiled floors, coloured black and white, and brick walls with paintings hanging up on it, and tables littered around the room, and a counter to order at and look at cakes. It was moderately packed with mainly a few young couples on dates and some adults enjoying tea and biscuits after work. Spotting a nice booth in the back corner, he led the girl to it, both slipping into the iconic red leather seats of a diner. 

"What'd'ye want, love?" He asked, getting up and trying to smile convincingly when she held onto his wrist for a moment.

"A bowl of chips, please. Oh! And a strawberry milkshake." John wasn't very surprised at her order. If Cynthia could be a drink, she'd be a strawberry milkshake. He knew it was weird to think about, but sometimes people reminded him of random things in life that he then associated with said person. Winking at her one last time, he left her and made his way up to the counter.

He couldn't banish the vision of Paul staring at him from across the street from his mind. What had the boy been thinking about? He had been too far away and too blind to see how Paul had reacted to seeing them hold hands. All he had seen was his expression on his slightly blurry face change before he left with hasty movements. And he couldn't stop thinking about how they almost kissed, standing drenched under the football stands. It was like something out of a romcom movie. He still felt the drip of icy-cold water down his neck, the way Paul's eyes burned into his, glittering like green suns. 

"Sir? What would you like?" The cashier was staring at him in confusion. He looked up and blinked at him before shaking his thoughts way, embarrassed. He had probably stood there deep in thought, unresponsive to the worker's questions. Feeling the back of his neck burn, he ordered their food.

"Two bowls of chips, and uh.. some flake, a strawberry milkshake, and an iced coffee." The cashier wrote his stuff down and he paid before returning to his seat. 

"You took a while," Cynthia commented. She looked mildly concerned for him, but he leaned his elbows on the table, smiling at her.

"Got distracted thinking about how cute you look in that spotty dress."   
He knew in the back of his mind he shouldn't really be flirting if he wasn't actually that interested in her, but he couldn't seem to shake the default he took with girls. Which was flirting. He just stared down at her from his half-lidded eyes.

"You flatter me." She giggled nonsensically again, obviously delighted at the praise he had given her. John didn't know why it made him so uncomfortable to see that. "You're a real charmer, Lennon. Like a lot of the other girls say." She blinked up at him through her eyelashes.

"Do they?" He commented mildly, not really paying attention when he leaned back in his seat, gaze fixing on the front door to the cafe for a moment. He didn't know why he suddenly wanted to see Paul come through them.

"Oh, yes. Seems you've dated or gone out with nearly all the girls in Liverpool." She raised an eyebrow, and he could see her eyes flash with anxiety for a moment. 

"You're different." He lied. He wished he didn't, desperately so; but he couldn't stand to see the raw insecurity so obviously within her. She doubted that he would stay with her for very long. Unfortunately, she was right - he didn't know how, exactly, but she was. John felt like something else was tugging him in the different direction away from her. He didn't feel anything for her. A mild attraction maybe, but that was it, really. Genuinely, he felt sorry, but he didn't want to lead her on anymore than he already was. He vowed to break it off next week if he couldn't bring himself to like Cynthia.

\- 

After their food arrived, they flirted back and forth for most of the afternoon and chatted about mainly menial things before John took Cynthia home. It had started raining while they'd been inside, so John nicked one of the umbrellas out of the bucket that people had left theirs in ( _'John! You're so wicked!'_ Cynthia had exclaimed excitedly when she spotted him doing so) and they booked it out of there, running down the street and laughing all the while.

"Why does it have to rain while we're on our date?" Cynthia complained as they hurried through the streets, squeezing past other people - who were also anxious to get out of the rain - and avoiding puddles. 

"Curse you, whatever gods' up there!"   
John jokingly shook a fist at the gunmetal-coloured sky. This made Cynthia laugh again, as expected. 

He felt rain trickle from on top of the umbrella and onto his shoulder, and he watched as the drops rolled off his leather jacket easily. The memories of working on him and Paul's song, sitting on the grass as their voices mingled together filled his mind, and he felt a frustration at the fact that he had let the stubborn boy fill his brain again. John shut his eyes for a moment, trying to force the thoughts away. 

The two fell silent as they reached the street Cynthia's house was on, the younger shielding her from the rain with his stolen umbrella as they halted in their footing at the front gate. Nothing was said for a few more seconds, before Cynthia turned to face him, gazing up at him through her lashes again as she smiled shyly.

"Hey, John..." The blonde-haired girl paused. "Thanks for the date. It was really nice. You're a cute guy," she grinned.

He forced himself to grin back. "And yer a cute girl."

She giggled, ducking her head again before entwining his free hand with her warm one.  
"We should go out again sometime."

"I'd like that," He lied again, rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand. She looked up at him again, and pulled him into a kiss. 

He stood still for a moment in shock; John hadn't expected it, but he melted into it as she ran a hand through his greasy, waterlogged hair. He rested a hand on her hip for a few moments, head tilted for better access before she pulled away, grinning madly. Her lightly-coloured lipstick was ever so slightly smudged, he noticed.

"I'll call you." He promised, smiling down at her as she slid her house key into her door, opening it up. John felt a warm gush of air from inside caress his body.

"I'll hold you to that. Bye, John."

"See you, love." They exchanged one last look before she disappeared into the house, shutting the door softly after her.

He felt nothing from that. Why didn't he feel something when she kissed him? He lifted a cold hand to his lips for a moment before stuffing it in his pocket, turning away and hurrying out of the front garden of the house. His thoughts bombarded him as he sped down the street, not really wanting to be in the rain any longer than necessary. He wanted to feel even _some_ sort of attraction to her, anything at all! It would do him good to get a lovely, pretty girlfriend and forget about any thoughts of anyone else. More specifically, Paul. He had to forget about him and lose himself in a beautiful girlfriend. He couldn't fall for another guy and have his heart broken again. _AND!_ The last person he would ever want to like that way would be Paul! Let alone like him _at all._ He was an arsehole, as if John could ever like him, anyway! That was impossible. Paul made himself impossible to even like as a friend, let alone more than that.

He had to voice his thoughts. He needed to let it out. 

And who better to vent to other than his partner in crime? 

As soon as he got home, shaking off the umbrella and resting it in the doorway, he pulled off his sodden leather jacket, going immediately for the phone to call Ringo.

"John! You're soaking wet." Mimi scolded with crossed arms. "Dinner's nearly ready."

"Sorry, 'm not really hungry. I'm gonna ask Ringo to come over, is that okay?" He turned to her, pleading with his eyes as he held the phone in one hand.

There was a sigh. "Alright. He can have some of the chicken if he wants any." She disappeared back into the kitchen, and John hissed out a triumphant 'yes!' before he dialled his friend's number.

After 2 rings, there was a soft, light voice that answered the phone, unlike Ringo's nasally voice. "Starkey residence?"

"Mrs. Starkey! It's John." He coiled the phone cord around his finger languidly.

"Oh! John!" He almost felt the woman he had known for half his life's beaming through the phone, voice warm as fur. He always felt a motherly attachment to her when he was lacking the proper mother in his life. Not that Mimi wasn't a good mother, but.. she lacked the sympathy and affection needed sometimes. "Glad to hear from you. I'm assuming you'd like Richard?"

"Yes, cheers ma'am." 

There was silence for a few moments, then rustling, then one of his favourite voices sounded on the other end. "Lenny! What's up, la'?"

"Rings! I really need ta talk about somethin'. Come over?" 

"Oh, sure. Just had dinner. Be there in five, 'kay?" 

"See ya," John hung up. 

With that, he darted up to his room to change out of his wet clothes - he picked a white t-shirt and a warm jacket with some tracksuits before he sat on his bed, waiting for Ringo to arrive. As he waited, he picked up his guitar, going through the chords Paul taught him. He had been practising them so often ever since Paul taught him them; even in class, he was reciting the chords in his head, positioning his fingers in the air as if he was holding a guitar. He felt he was mastering them, and he felt an urge to learn a song and play it for Paul. Would he smile like he did when they were practising their song together? John really, _really_ wanted to see it again, for some reason.

"John! Richard is here." Mimi's voice interrupted his thoughts, and he stood up, putting down his guitar to go greet his best friend. 

"Aye, Rich! Come'ead." They hugged briefly before entering the house, going back up the stairs to John's room. Ringo had put down his umbrella at the door, and he looked a bit cold and irritated at having to run through the rain to get there. "Sorry to make you come all this way in the rain, mate." He felt a little guilty, but it was necessary.

"'s okay, John! I hope it's important, that's all." Ringo shook his head, ever the kind one of the two as he smiled at his friend, resting a hand on his shoulder as John shut his bedroom door. 

"Okay, so... I just really need to get this all out. 's doin' me bloody head in." John sighed, crossing his arms as he sat down on his bed. Ringo opted to sit on the chair at his desk, leaning on the wood and gazing at John with a reassuring twinkle in his sapphire eyes.

"I'm all ears,"

So with that, John spilled all his thoughts out pretty much at once; all his insecurities he had been feeling lately, and everything that had happened with Paul and Cynthia. He explained the way Paul had been acting so contradictory, how he taught John the actual chords for guitar, how they had fun working, how they fought. The only thing he kept to himself was the almost-kiss scenario, feeling like he didn't want to bring that up. He told Ringo about him and Cynthia's date, how he felt nothing romantic-like when they kissed, how she she seemed scared of even _saying_ the word homosexual. It came out so much easier than he thought it would when he'd been bottling it all up for the entire week so far; Ringo was just that type of person that was approachable and easy to talk to. John was always able to confess all his feelings to him. There were very little secrets they kept from each other.

"Wow.. that's a lot you've been feelin' there, mate. 's only the first week back an' already all this drama is happenin'!" Ringo chuckled, taking in all the information with a thoughtful expression. 

"...I know. Sorry to dump it all, but-" He slumped in his spot, staring at his lap and twiddling his thumbs, feeling spent from letting out all his feelings.

"Don't apologise, okay?" Ringo cut him off with a shake of his head. A reflective silence filled the compact room for a few minutes, John drifting back to his thoughts again while Ringo mulled over what he had just been told. "Y'know, I understand where yer comin' from. Maybe you have some hidden feelings for Paul, but you don't really wanna admit it-"

"I _don't_ have hidden feelings for Paul!" John retorted, but Ringo just grinned at him and plowed on.

"-so yer tryin' to rid those feelings by gettin' with Cynthia. But ya don't really like her." His friend paused. "I think, maybe ask Paul himself why he's been actin' so strange. It would give ya more of a clear answer instead of just frettin' over it."

"How? I've asked already an' it makes him get even angrier and distance himself from me!" John cried, rubbing his eyes harshly with fingertips in annoyance. "There's fuck all I can do ta get him to tell me why he's bein' such a dickhead."

"Hm... maybe try George? That might be better. He would probably tell you somethin', at least," Ringo tapped his chin soberly, eyebrows furrowed. "And as for Cyn..."

"What?"

"I don't think you should lead her on like that. I understand if yer tryin' to forget about other feelings with her, but it isn't fair on her behalf. She doesn't deserve to be led on by a guy that doesn't like her." Ringo stared at him seriously.

"I-I.." The auburn-haired boy stuttered, feeling his cheeks burn with guilt again. "maybe yer right. I know I shouldn't."

"Good. Do it soon, though- ye don't wanna get too deep into it. The quicker you do it the better." 

"Right. Thanks for all the advice, Richie. It actually really helps," John smiled at his azure-eyed friend, who smiled back just as warmly. He could ask George why Paul was acting so rudely and maybe he could get to the root of the problem!

"'s all good, mate." He stood up, John following him as they left the room.

"Richard? Are you going to stay for dinner?" Mimi asked as she came out of the lounge room.

"Na, I gotta get home. Cheers, though." Ringo shook his head as they made their way to the front door. "See ya tomorrow, Lenny!" He grinned at his friend.

John pulled him into a hug. "Bye."


	6. 6 ;; forthlin road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning - gay slurs

"God, 'm so unbelievably tired.." John blinked, eyelashes sticking together, vision blurry with sleep; his thoughts were jumbled and seemed to move as slow as he was at that moment. Not even the crisp early morning breeze seemed to shake the warm cloaks of sleep from him, nor the takeaway tea Ringo had bought for him on his way to school. It was a tradition on their to-school trips; Ringo went past the local cafe every morning to their meetup spot and usually would buy coffees or teas for both of them. Sometimes muffins or cookies if they're lucky.

"Stayin' up all night thinking of Paul, huh?" Ringo took a sip of his own drink - karma was on John's side, however - when his friend spluttered and cried out as his tongue got viciously struck with boiling brew.

"Hah! That's what ya get for sayin' things like that." He snickered at the older's demise.

"Shut up. 'm right and you know it," He grinned impishly at the other.

"Whatever." John shrugged, taking a careful sip of his own tea. His stomach rumbled, and he realised just then that he had forgotten to eat breakfast in his exhausted rush to not be late. Unfortunately Ringo was right in the fact that he had stayed up thinking of Paul. Not really!! Just.. wondering whether he had any more chords to teach John. Not that he needed the younger to teach him anyway. He didn't need Paul.

Lifting his head, he was grateful that his drink had helped wake him up a bit as he gazed at the sky above. It was milky with a blanket of clouds, not a single patch of blue in sight. The breeze stirred crimson and honey leaves scattered like lost memories on the pavement below him; he watched as yet another leaf twirled down from the trees planted along the streets, drifting past him only to land in a puddle at the gutter. He suspected it would rain more soon. Autumn was usually a rainy season.

"Can you believe our education is almost over already?" Ringo spoke up, cutting through their comfortable silence as they made their way to their school. "We're going to be fully-fledged adults."

"I know," John shivered with excitement at the thought. "we can get our own places. I don't have to be pestered by Mimi all the time."

"Are you still wantin' to do that band thing you always go on about?" His friend side-eyed him curiously.

"Yeah, 'course. Yer the best drummer in all of Liddypool, and Stu's the..." he trailed off. He could see Ringo's lips twitch up in amusement. "alright-est bassist in Liddypool. And I'm the best guitarist. We're all set, man! I can already see America in me sights." He held a hand to his brows as if they were standing before the country right then and there.

"I dunno.." Ringo paused. The younger could see he was worried of pissing him off when his next words were chosen carefully. "Stuart was never so keen on band-related things. He always said he had a passion fer art and that. He definitely seems to enjoy the one optional art class we have at our school."

"Yeah. He was always the artist type. Honestly, he should have gone to an art school - not here." John's brows furrowed. "But 'e's the only bassist we got. Both Pete's are even worse than him at bass. I don't want 'em in our band, anyway. They're not willin' to really commit,"

"Yer right on that. We'll just have to keep optimistic, eh?" Ringo nudged his shoulder with a reassuring smile.

"Optimistic. Yeah." The other nodded, but his eyes reflected the troubled thoughts within.

The rest of the walk to school was spent in a relatively comfortable silence, just enjoying the cool morning and finishing their teas before they got to the building. By the time they were there, they had finished their drinks and thrown away the cups. Kids were hopping off the bus that was positioned outside the gates, some other kids coming from the opposite way in which John and Ringo came - all of them as chatty as ever. As they moved to join the students in their trek into the building, he spotted a ever familiar pair a few metres in front of them.

Paul had his back turned to him, chattering to George who flicked a cigarette butt to the ground, stubbing it out with his heel. John snatches the end of their conversation, trying to act nonchalant but secretly invested in whatever they were talking about.

"...just like that. But whatever, enough about him. Anyways -" Paul had stopped himself when he saw George stub the butt out. "where the hell do you get smokes anyway?"

"Usually nick 'em off dad. Or Peter." The younger was nonchalant, hands shoved in his pockets. John noticed his hair always seemed so large and compact, like a giant dark shit had been slapped on his head. John suddenly burst into snickers at the mental image.

Immediately after he had done so, both Paul and George's heads snapped in his direction, their gazes burning into him. He held a hand to his mouth, turning his laughter into a fake cough; it obviously didn't fool either of the boys, but they said nothing, turning back to continue talking. Not without Paul sending a glare towards John, of course.

"What's funny?" Ringo caught his attention with a nudge, gaze darting from Paul and George to John.

"Oh, nothin'," John started, leaning in to whisper into Ringo's ear. "but haven't you noticed that George's hair looks like a giant shit? It's just so... _blocky._ Like a brick."

Ringo snorted loudly, quickly slapping a hand over his mouth to smother it - the other boys noticed it again, but they were more discreet when they looked in their direction again; it just made the two laugh harder, trying hard (not really) to stop it but failing miserably.

Paul just scoffed and pointedly turned his back again as he quickened his pace, George staring at them in confusion for a moment more before turning to catch up.

"We're such little boys sometimes, aren't we?" Ringo sucked in a breath, biting his lip to keep from laughing again as they pushed their way through the crowded hallway to their lockers.

"I hate to admit it," John snickered, their laughter finally dying down when they reached their lockers, trying their luck with their locks to get them open. _Yes! I got it on my first try._ The auburn-haired boy thought to himself triumphantly. With that, he reached into the cramped space to get his books for his first class, science.

"See you at recess, eh?" Ringo smiled at him. John returned it with a nod, flicking him with a finger on his cheek.

"See ya then, dork."

"Oi!" Ringo shoved his hand away with a playful glare before saying his goodbyes and disappearing down the hallway. John watched him go for a few moments, dreading his next class and having to pay attention in it - his attention-span not being his strong suit. Of course, you all knew that anyway.

Shutting his locker, John was about to leave to go to his class when something caught his eye.  
Paul.  
The boy was shutting his own locker as well, carrying his stuff for class, looking sharp as ever. Butterflies exploded in the almond-eyed boy's stomach again, heart leaping and cheeks warming, watching the younger's fluid movements and the curve of his back.

Why did he have to think about him so much? It was getting insanely irritating. Paul was an arsehole. He shouldn't be thinking about him as much as he was. He wasn't even thinking about him in a certain way - just everything seemed to remind him of Paul. He kept wondering, what is he doing at this moment? What would he do in x situation? Would Paul like roses? (He thought of that last one when he had gone past a flower shop. Not for any actual reason though)

He was brought back to reality when a slam echoed through the deserted hallway. _Wait, when did it get so empty in here?_ He glanced around in mild shock; the students must have gone to their classrooms in the time where John was deep in thought. Looking up, he froze at the scene before him.

Paul was shoved up against the lockers, eyes wide with fear. Someone had bunched his school jumper in their large fists, and he recognised Kevin and his lackeys. Shit, dark-haired Pete was with them! They were gazing down at the younger boy with mockery alight in their eyes, lips curled up in malicious smirks. George stood next to his friend, trying to shove Kevin off of him but ending up behind pushed aside. _Oh god._

"Get off-" Paul struggled to be freed from his position, but was cut off.

"Shut up. You fucking faggot. Tryna fuck me friends? Carl here told us ye tried to seduce 'im into fuckin' ya in the bathroom stalls." The boy jerked his head in the direction of one the blonde-haired boys surrounding them.

"Shirtlifter!" Carl sneered at the helpless boy, eyes sparking with disgust and fury.

"Let him go! Fuckin' bastards!" George lunged for again, letting out a growl when his hands were pinned behind his back by one of the other boys. Both of them were obviously weaker in the hands of the older, stronger, bulkier bullies.

"Fuck off. I didn't do shit." Paul snarled, glaring at them with such hatred that John could feel it radiating like heat.

_Fuck. What do I do? I have to do something!_ Fear surged in his chest, breath shallow and fast. If he stood there watching the entire time, Paul and George would hate him even more than they already do. He couldn't stand there and watch all this happen when they didn't deserve it. Sure, Paul was a dick, but no one deserved bullying such as this. John still shivered in horror at that word. Faggot.

"You gonna try and fuck us all, huh? Want to stick yer prick up me bum?" Kevin hissed with narrowed eyes, pushing Paul harder against the metal - the latter continued to struggle in his grip. "I don't think so."

"I think he'd more like it up his own." Pete guffawed, making the rest of the group laugh mockingly themselves. _How could they enjoy this?_

"We're gonna teach you and your boyfriend little lesson, faggy. One you soon won't forget." Kevin laughed again.

A sudden anger bubbled in his throat, and he curled his hands into fists, coming up and shoving Kevin off of Paul before he could stop himself.

"Stop it!"

The bully stumbled before stopping himself, the group staring at John in utter disbelief and shock. It wasn't like John to play the hero in these types of situations.

"What the hell, John?! I was just about to teach this lizzie a lesson!" He glared at the other boy, who crossed his arms, keeping his composure as calm as possible as he gazed at him.

"You defending' him now?" Pete stared at him with a growing malicious smile. "John's got a-"

"No, I'm not!" John cut him off hurriedly, heart beating wildly inside him. He struggled to keep himself calm. _It's okay, John. They don't know your secret._ "I'm just sayin' that there's no point beating them up. I mean, look at 'em! They're weak little scraps." He shrugged. He felt Paul and George's gaze burning into his side intently.

"'Sides, I saw the teachers runnin' round, you should be careful. You don't wanna get caught roughin' up the new kid."

He could see they doubted him; their eyes flashed mistrustfully as they took in his words. But nothing more was said until Kevin spoke up.

"Hah, yer right. Don't want to get an extra detention 'cause of these poofs." He came up to look above them, gazing down at them with a malevolent stare. "But we're not done with you yet. Soon, I'll teach ye a lesson on how we deal with fags in our school." He gave one last shove to Paul, his back smacking hollowly against the lockers. John cringed at the sight.

"Yer lucky Lennon let ye off. Won't be so kind next time," Carl jeered at them, the gang of boys beginning to disperse and walk off in different directions.

Silence hung over them like a dark cloud until the last of the bullies had completely disappeared from sight. The three were alone.

"I can fight me own battles, asshole!" Paul immediately rounded on John, practically bristling with hostility, glaring at him with as much enmity as he could manage. The intensity of it almost threw the older off, and he stepped back, reeling with shock. He had just saved him from a fucking _pounding,_ and this is how he's repaid?

"Hey! I saved you from being beat up!" He stared at him in utter disbelief.

"Yeah, and also insulted us in the process." With one last huff, the boy turned tail and stormed away, seething with fury.

George hurried up to John, eyes soft and apologetic. The boy smiled small, and the older felt warmed by the sight.

"Uhm- thanks, John." The younger nodded.

"George! Fucking come on!" Paul called, arms crossed and foot tapping against the floor irritatedly.

"Sorry," George apologised and dashed away to catch up with Paul.

"You're welcome!" The older called after them. Paul just pointedly ignored him as they rounded a corner, George sending one last apologetic look his way before disappearing.

_At least one of them has warmed up to me,_ John thought bitterly. _I fucking risked my reputation and getting a beating myself to save someone who's been nothing but an arse. What was the whole fucking point then?_

_Would you rather have watched them throw blows after blows? Watch blood spill from Paul's lips, watch as he cries out for help, writhing in pain?_ The voice hissed again.

_No! No way,_ he crossed his arms over his chest protectively, the thought of watching that sickening to him. He shoved the thoughts away with a glare to the floor. 

_But I won't be risking much else for Paul anymore if I can help it._

\- 

John's worn out shoes shuffled against the smelly carpet of his music classroom, head rested in hand, staring aimlessly at his books spread out on his desk. It was Friday, the last day of school (hell yes!) for the week; John was just waiting for the seconds to tick by, itching to get moving and go on home. He had a party this weekend - Stuart's. He was excited as ever for it. Another excuse for rowdy teenage boys to get drunk and maybe pull a girl or two. 

__There was one small problem, though. Paul hadn't come to school that day. He hadn't seen Paul since the almost-beat up where John saved him; he had seen him on the way out of school on Thursday, but the boy was tense and was basically running to get out of there, and didn't notice him. They had no music lessons on Thursday, so they didn't have to interact. But now it was Friday, music lesson being second period - and Paul was nowhere to be seen._ _

__John had wondered at first whether he was just really late; but why would he be? It was most likely he wasn't at school at all. Unusual, since Paul took him as the type that wouldn't miss a single lesson the entire year. But it seemed that it was so, and now the auburn-haired boy was incredibly bored. There wasn't anything he could do now in this lesson, since everyone was partnered up and working on their song - John didn't even have a copy of the lyrics or chords that they were working on, Paul was the one who had it all. But he decided, if he wasn't going to be doing work, he might as well ask Mr Martin if there was anything he could do in the meantime._ _

__

__

__Standing up, he made his way over to the teacher. He was bent down at his desk, writing on some sort of document, when the student came up to him. The man lifted his head in mild surprise (John wasn't exactly the type to ask questions or interact with the teacher longer than necessary)._ _

__"John? What can I do for you?" Mr Martin put down his pen._ _

__"Paul isn't here today, sir. Is there anything I should do this lesson without him?"_ _

__"Oh, right. Uhm-" The teacher leaned to the side to see past John and gestured to where George and Ringo were intent on their work. "how about you join in on your friends' session? Don't disrupt them too much, though."_ _

__"Yes, sir," John nodded, excitement buzzing inside him as he hurried to sit next to them. At least he could hang out with Ringo and George! He wondered what they were doing for their song._ _

__"Aye, John! What you doin'?" Ringo looked up from where he was writing, eyes shining warmly at his friend; George blinked at him in welcome, a guitar slung across his lap where he was softly playing some tunes._ _

__"Paul's not here today, so teach said I should just join in and watch you guys." John pulled up a chair, sitting down in it across from them._ _

__"That's all good! Hey, Geo, wanna show what we got so far to 'im?" Ringo grinned at his friend. He seemed to have already coined a nickname for him. John started at him closely, noticing the way his eyes shone in a different light when looking at the younger boy. It rose a bout of suspicion in the almond-eyed boy. What exactly was the nature of their relationship?_ _

__"Sure. Mind you, it isn't done yet, of course."  
George sat up in his seat, glancing down at the book with their chords and lyrics in them to begin adjusting his fingers' positions accordingly. John noticed, since it was the first time where George said more than two words, his accent was thick with scouse, more than Ringo or himself._ _

___"Well I've been told when a boy kiss a girl,"_ Ringo began to sing, ringed fingers tapping against his thighs as if he had his drum set in front of him._ _

___"Take a trip around the world, hey hey!"_  
George joined in the background with a 'shoo-wop' bit along with his guitar playing._ _

__They continued the song for about half a minute more, and John was actually stunned. George was obviously a very talented guitarist, his movements so fluid and knowing, eyes shut as he focussed on the music. He didn't even have to look at what he was doing! He seemed such a natural at it that John wouldn't be surprised if he was born with a tiny little guitar in his hands that had manifested inside his mum's stomach. The mental image was a little funny, though. And Ringo was actually a good singer, his voice deep and soothing. Overall, the actual song was really good as well. Catchy and very rock-n-roll-y._ _

__"Shit! That was so good, you two. I bet it's gonna be a gear song." John started at them in awe, crossing his arms to lean them on the table._ _

__"I dunno, it's not so amazin'..." George began humbly, struggling to suppress a grin at the praise, gazing at John admirably. Did the kid admire him? He raised a brow. Maybe. John always looked like the personification of confidence and George probably thought he was talented as all hell. _Wait 'til he finds out that Paul had to fucking teach me the proper guitar chords,_ he thought bitterly._ _

__"Course it is!" He spoke out loud with a chuckle. "I'd buy it at the record shop."_ _

__"Really? I dunno if I like me singing voice in it," Ringo furrowed his brows, subconsciously reaching up to feel his neck briefly. "it's not really me strong suit."_ _

__"What? Yer a great singer, Rings. Don't downplay yerself." George spoke immediately, staring at the oldest of the group incredulously. "I know you want me to sing on it, but you'd do much better. I like yer singing voice."_ _

__Ringo beamed shyly at the praise, cheeks red. He almost burst out laughing. Does Ringo have a _crush_ on the kid?? He made a mental note to tease him about it later._ _

__"Anyways, you guys carry on, I'll just watch." John waved a hand, leaning back in his seat to let them continue working._ _

__"Alright,"_ _

__They got back to work, and John opted to stare out the window, getting lost in his thoughts. What the hell made Paul stay at home? He didn't seem sick yesterday, so it most likely wouldn't be that. Would the guy just _ditch_ like that? It seemed unlikely. Paul McCartney didn't seem like the person to ditch for no reason. So there must have been _something._ He was determined to find out._ _

__-_ _

__"Hey, John, Ringo?" George piped up from behind them.  
The lesson was over now, the majority of it after George and Ringo had showed John the song they had spent working on it while the latter chatted to them occasionally, mainly gazing out the window and thinking to himself._ _

__"Yeah? What's up, George?" Ringo answered, the two turning around to look at him curiously._ _

__"Can I hang out with ye guys at lunch? Paul isn't here an' all tha'... it's okay if ye don't want me to-" He started, looking almost embarrassed to ask._ _

__"Oi! 'Course you can hang out with us, Georgie!" John laughed, pulling the younger into a headlock and ruffling his perfectly-styled hair with a mischievous chuckle._ _

__"Gerroff!" George laughed, shoving him away with a glare. But his eyes shone with happiness at the acceptance. _He seems like a good kid,_ John thought with a soft smile. _I won't mind having him around.__ _

__"Yer our friend now, George. You don't have to ask."  
Ringo assured him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder as the three walked off down the hallway. _ _

__"Mind if we go to the cafeteria? 'm starvin'. I forgot breakfast this mornin'." John veered left in the intersection of hallways, George and Ringo following behind._ _

__"That's probably why you were so tired earlier, Lenny. Breakfast _is_ the most important meal of the day, y'know," Ringo crossed his arms, eyes glittering with amusement._ _

__"Whatever, _mum."_ He rolled his eyes. _ _

__"I'm hungry, too. I could kill fer a sandwich." George grinned as they pushed their way through the cafeteria doors; it was completely packed inside, and it seemed every table was occupied - the table that John and his friends usually sat at had both Pete's, Stu, and Kevin sitting at it. _Kevin,_ he thought with anger bubbling hotly in his veins. He wouldn't be sitting with them anytime soon. George seemed to have the same thought, his dark eyes glittering with fury as he glared knives at the bully. _ _

__"Dickhead," John muttered._ _

__"Right." George agreed wholeheartedly, the two turning away to go get their food. The memories of seeing Paul so helpless filled the auburn-haired boy's mind, sending a shiver down his spine. That was something he didn't want to see again anytime soon._ _

__"'Scuse me? What's happened?" Ringo asked, glancing between the two of them, utterly confused._ _

__"Kevin and his lackeys tried to beat up Paul." George explained, and John could feel the rage rolling off him like waves on a beach. "Callin' him names an' that. John managed to get them to fuck off, though."_ _

__"Best was one of them, unfortunately," John sighed. "but 'm not surprised."_ _

__"Jesus, really?" The older's eyes grew round with dismay. "Fuck. That's shit."_ _

__"It was." The almond-eyed boy agreed, snatching up a sandwich and an orange juice. Stuffing his free hand inside his pockets, he sighed in disappointment when there wasn't any money inside. "Damnit, I got no money left after spendin' it on me and Cyn's date," He turned to Ringo with innocent pleading eyes. "Ringsy dearest?"_ _

__"Fuck's sake." Ringo saw right through his ruse, reaching into his own pocket and slapping a note in his hand defeatedly. "Yer so predictable, Lennon."_ _

__"Oh, my saviour! Thank you, how will I ever repay?" John pulled him into a one armed hug as he went up to pay, George behind him with his own food. He was snickering at the exchange between his two friends._ _

__"You won't, I know it. You heard it here first!" Ringo leaned against the counter, watching him pay for his food._ _

__"John not always the best at payin' people back? I'm not surprised." George cackled, full-fledged grin revealing wolf-like canines._ _

__"Shut up. I'll remember!" They all knew he was lying, but just laughed it off._ _

__After getting their food, the three left the cafeteria and went outside, enjoying the cool breeze as they went to sit under the football stands and enjoy their lunch. Finally, for the first time since Monday, John's mind was free from Paul._ _

__

__-_ _

__

__"See you later, eh?" John called to George as they began parting ways; kids all around them were making their way past, chattering loudly as some kids got on the bus waiting to take them home, others walking home either left or right. He heard snippets of others' conversations._ _

__"You goin' to Stuart's party?" A boy that John recognised was in the same year as him whispered excitedly to his friend._ _

__"Yeah. Heard it's gonna be full of booze!"_ _

__John wasn't really interested in it, instead lifting his head to try and catch what George called back to him._ _

__"See you on Monday, I guess," He called with a grin, nodding goodbye before the three departed in different directions._ _

__"Bye," John muttered under his breath, picking up his pace down the street, Ringo following behind. The two decided to hang at John's place and have a study session (it probably wouldn't be spent on studying for long, though, knowing them both). Gazing up at the sky above, he saw the clouds were greyer than they were before, and as if on cue - a droplet of icy water splashed onto the bridge of his aquiline nose. Brushing it off, he began to jog. He was still tired and wasn't ready to start running unless it got really bad._ _

__"Jeez, it's startin' to rain so much!" Ringo commented._ _

__"That's British weather for ya." John chuckled. Luckily, the sky only spat rain here and there, falling more and more frequently as they went; it only got bad when they had made it home, bucketing down as he fumbled to open the door._ _

__Once the pair squeezed inside, John ran a hand through his hair and shook water off of it - he spotted Mimi was already home, at the kitchen table, writing something._ _

__"Hello, John. How was school?" She glanced briefly in his direction as he dumped his house keys on the mantelpiece, kicking off his shoes. "Oh, hello Richard."_ _

__"Afternoon, Mrs Smith," Ringo greeted politely._ _

__"School was fine," John shrugged, walking past her to go up the stairs into his room. "we gotta do some work for a bit." It was somewhat true; they had work to do, but it wasn't like he was going to do it. He just wanted an excuse to hang out with Ringo and not be disturbed._ _

__Shutting his bedroom door behind him, the auburn-haired boy threw himself onto his bed with a dramatic sigh. He gazed sightlessly up at the ceiling above him. Paul came to mind again as he laid there, and a burning curiosity surged in his stomach. What the hell made him stay home from school?_ _

__"What's got you down in the dumps, eh?" Ringo settled in the seat at the younger's desk, watching him with an amused smile._ _

__"Nothin'," John lied with a sigh, rubbing his face with a hand tiredly._ _

__"I know yer lyin', but I'll let it alone until you feel up to tellin' me, 'kay?" His azure eyes shone kindly at him as he began taking out his schoolbooks from his bag, dumping them on the table before shoving some of the miscellaneous clutter that was on John's desk. The almond-eyed was forever grateful for Ringo's unending reassurance._ _

__"Thanks, Rings." John smiled small._ _

__"Anyways, enough sappy shit. Gonna do work or just lie there and lament about how Paul didn't come to school today?"_ _

__"Wha'? How do you know-" John immediately shot up to a sitting position, head snapping to look at him in shock._ _

__"It's bloody obvious, John! You've been mopin' about all damn day. You didn't even laugh at me record store clerk joke at lunch!" Ringo laughed with a roll of his eyes. "Every man an' his dog can see yer upset."_ _

__"I'm not fucking moping," John protested, clearly moping._ _

__"Sure," He burst out laughing, "whatever you say, mate."_ _

__John just harrumphed, crossing his arms and resting them on his knees. "Sometimes I think yer psychic, Ringo."_ _

__"Who's sayin' I'm not?" The older raised an eyebrow, gazing at him seriously like he had just said something incredibly stupid. The amusement twinkling in his eyes gave him away, though._ _

__"Wow, the arrogance."_ _

__"Sorry, John, I have bad news for yer future." Ringo pretended to sniffle and dab at the corners of his eyes with an imaginary handkerchief._ _

__Deciding to go along with it, the younger let out an irritated sigh.  
"What is it?"_ _

__"Yer gonna be terminally stupid for the rest of yer life."_ _

__Immediately John kicked his shin harshly, throwing a pillow in his direction with a piercing glare. This didn't affect Ringo whatsoever, of course, him being too caught up in laughing so hard that he dissolved into a coughing fit._ _

__"Fucker."_ _

__"You wish you could fuck Paul, though." Ringo snickered boyishly, wiping at the tears rolling down his cheeks as he tried to compost himself._ _

__"Shut UP!" John screeched, grabbing his remaining pillow and pressing it onto his head, wanting to just sink into the floor and not exist anymore._ _

__"Johnny's got a crush, Johnny's got a cru-ush-" Ringo was twirling around the bed, singing gleefully (and as loudly as possible) until John smacked him with a pillow hard across the face, getting to his feet._ _

__"Oh YEAH? Well, seems yer a bit of a hypocrite, Starkey!" John grinned slyly, knowing he hit a weak spot when Ringo's laughter died down, the boy staring at him warily._ _

__"What d'ye mean?"_ _

__"You know exactly what I mean." John leaned in, pinching his cheeks. "You've grown soft for little Georgie!"_ _

__"What?" Ringo exclaimed, shoving his hands away. "No! No _way!"__ _

__"Yes, you do!" John cackled, jumping about on his bed like a little kid. "Ringo's got a crush on Brows!"_ _

__"I don't!" Ringo's cheeks and ears were flamed red as he protested feebly, eyes wide in utter embarrassment. "Shut the hell up, John, you prick! I don't like him!"_ _

__"Then why were ya starin' at him like he was Elvis, Berry, and Little Richard all in one?" The younger crossed his arms._ _

__"I-I wasn't!" The other stuttered, terribly flustered as he glared at John. "Just shut up! I _don't_ like him. Can we drop it?"_ _

__"Alright, alright! Jeez." John backed off, rolling his eyes. He had hoped Ringo would have indulged his little theatrics for a while longer._ _

__"C'mon, don't get all upset on me now," Ringo nudged him warmly, all his embarrassment seemingly gone as he went to sit back at the desk. "I gotta do some actual work now. Why don't you get yer shit and I'll let you copy off me English stuff?"_ _

__"You'd let me?" John grinned widely, jumping up to get his own stuff before sitting back down on the bed._ _

__"Just make sure not to make it too obvious. We've gotten detentions and pep talks from Mr Epstein too many times to count because of it," Ringo shivered at the intensely boring memories._ _

__"True.. we don't want a repeat of that caning." Even though they tried to make light of that situation, it still evoked deep-set fear in them. It was something that would stay with them for a long time._ _

__Shaking off the thoughts, the two settled into a comfortable silence and got to work. As John sat there, he thought of Paul again. He was determined to find out the reasoning for his absence; and that was just what he was going to do._ _

__

__-_ _

__

__John waited until it was dark; he watched the sun sink below the horizon, the darkness of night swallowing the city up. Shortly before the sun set, Ringo set off to get back to his own place, and John patiently ate dinner and chatted idly with Mimi before returning to his room again._ _

__"This is it.. don't screw it up, John." (he probably was going to, but he wouldn't admit it to himself yet.) He muttered to himself, pacing back and forth along the floorboards anxiously. He'd been waiting for Mimi to go to bed, and now he was pretty sure she was asleep - he pulled on a pair of converse and a jacket before slowly opening up his door. He cringed at the creak, but there was no response to it, so he crept out of his room and descended the stairs. Glancing around to make sure there was no one, he slithered silently along the hallway until he reached the phone book._ _

__"McCartney, McCartney..." He breathed, opening up and shuffling through the pages frantically to find the name within it - after a few more seconds of searching, he finally found it. _McCartney!_ He smiled triumphantly, tracing a finger across the paper to find his address. _ _

___20 Forthlin road._ John thought to himself. _Interesting._ With that, he scribbled down the adress before shutting the book as softly as possible and dashed up the stairs again to go out the window. It would be too loud if he went through the front door. Opening it up, he leaned outside to be blasted with cool air. _ _

__The sky was inky black, a half-moon suspended in its pools and washing everything in a muted silver. His heart beat fast at the thought of coming to meet Paul in the night. How would he react to seeing him? _Only one way to find out,_ John thought. He lifted a leg over his windowsill and grabbed onto the pipe, lifting himself fully out before shimmying down the pipe, landing easily on the ground below. After that he darted away, running off down the street with Paul's address in hand. _ _

__There weren't many people around, mainly just the people of the street. Prostitutes, urchins, the like. He was too caught up in his own mission to pay any mind, though - eventually, he reached Paul's street, gazing up at the house on the very end. _It must be it... _he thought. It was a pretty modest house, sandy red-brown bricks and cream windowsills, a neatly-trimmed hedge at the front. It was so much smaller than he thought it would be. He remembered how at first, he thought Paul and George were snobby rich kids, but as it turns out - it was kind of the opposite. They had gotten into the schools on scholarships, as they probably couldn't afford the actual fee.___ _

____Squeezing around the side gate, he hoped that Paul's bedroom would be around the back; looking up, he noticed there was a soft light coming from the far left window up the top, the curtains pulled back. How could he tell if it was Paul's room?? He tried to stretch up onto his toes and peer in, but it was way too high for him to see properly inside. How will he be able to find out?_ _ _ _

____Well, his questions were answered when Paul conveniently came up to stand by the window, shirtless and looking tired but troubled. _There! Now I don't have to look anymore._ John's cheeks went red at seeing him topless, but he quickly shook himself - ( _stop being gay for god's sake, John,_ he told himself irritatedly) and grabbed a pebble from below his feet and chucked it at the window. _ _ _ _

____Paul flinched, startled, shocked gaze dropping to the ground below. He stared for a few seconds before his eyes went as wide as dinner plates at seeing _John,_ of all people, standing in his back garden. Opening his window hastily, the boy leaned out of it, looking incredulous, exposed pale skin shining under moonlight._ _ _ _

____" _John?_ What the ruddy hell are you doin' here?" He didn't seem hostile, really. Just shocked and completely bewildered. It was a much better reaction than he expected._ _ _ _

____"I need to talk to you." John stared up at him, eyes squinting to try and see him better._ _ _ _

____The ebony-haired boy stared at him in silence, arched brows furrowed and cheeks flushed. His doe eyes flickered to the windowsill below him. He was too far away for John to read his expression, and it frustrated him._ _ _ _

____"Alright, come on. Climb the tree." Paul gestured to the gigantic oak tree that stood just near enough to his room, granting John access to it._ _ _ _

____Sucking in a nervous breath, the almond-eyed boy gripped onto one of the thick, low-hanging branches and began crawling along it, trying his best to avoid getting caught in twigs as he began to shimmy along the large branch that stretched out far enough so he could jump through the window into the room._ _ _ _

____Once he made it inside, he stared around at Paul's bedroom, taking in every detail with a hungry gaze. His bed was shoved up in the left corner, a desk and chair in the right; a closet was on the other side of the room and a full-length mirror. It was a tiny little room, and the wooden floorboards creaked under his footing. On the desk was a framed photo of a dark-haired woman with two young boys. He recognised one of them as a young Paul, maybe 10 or so. There was the familiar notebook on his desk, opened and covered in some type of scribbled writing. He averted his eyes, not wanting to read it in case of Paul getting mad at him for it.  
He suddenly felt awkward and as if he was intruding on something, and he wondered why he had come at all. _To find out why he wasn't at school, idiot!_ He scolded himself._ _ _ _

____"Well? Go on. Spit it out." Paul seemed almost as awkward as John was, arms crossed over his bare chest, gaze locked on the floor as he shuffled his feet, a careful mask of indifference placed on his face to hide his underlying feelings. John stared dumbly at the younger, noticing a few dark hairs on his chest, a trail of fuzzy hairs at his stomach guiding his gaze downward... quickly he lowered his head to fix his eyes on the floor, cheeks burning and heart racing wildly, stomach churning with so many feelings that he felt he would explode. _Stop it, John. Don't be a creep.__ _ _ _

____Paul seemed just as uncomfortable with being shirtless, so he hurried to his bed and picked up the plain white t-shirt, pulling it over his head. John noticed his back muscles flex in the corner of his peripheral vision._ _ _ _

____"Why weren't you at school?" John raised his head, almost sighing out loud in relief as Paul was now fully clothed._ _ _ _

____"No reason," Paul shrugged, sitting down on his bed, resting his elbows on his thighs and his head in his hands, looking up at him with that goddamn facade like he always fucking did. It made John want to yell with frustration._ _ _ _

____"There's got to be _somethin'._ Even if it was just wanting to ditch." John crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. He was suddenly aware of the metre of space between them, tension crackling in the air like lightning, the air in the room growing thick and hot with each passing second._ _ _ _

____Paul just shrugged again. "Didn't want to ditch. I just didn't go."_ _ _ _

____"That's not an answer." John clenched his jaw._ _ _ _

____"I don't need to tell you why. Why do you care so much, anyway?" Paul's demeanour was beginning to grow hostile and distrusting, expression guarded. Already John could see him distancing himself from the older more and more, putting as much space between their rocky relationship as humanly possible._ _ _ _

____"We were 'sposed to work on the song today." John sighed, feeling himself begin to reach the end of his tether. He couldn't put up with Paul and his bullshit anymore! If he did, he'd go mad._ _ _ _

____"Whatever. We still have Monday." The younger stood up, moving closer to him for a moment to grab his notebook and close it, going back to sit on his bed. Again with that fucking cold indifference! Like John was some stranger, no one he had to concern himself with whatsoever. The deflection, hostility, iciness, scathing words.. John couldn't take it anymore._ _ _ _

____He cracked it, flying into a fit of rage._ _ _ _

____"Why the hell are you acting like this??"_ _ _ _

____Paul stared at him, not shocked by his outburst, but angry._ _ _ _

_____"What?"_ _ _ _ _

____"What the hell did I ever do to you? I came here, no harm intended - I just wanted to know why you weren't at school!" John's voice rose in volume with each word, hands clenched into fists._ _ _ _

____This pissed Paul off a lot. He leapt up, eyes blazing and lips curled up in a snarl, muscles tense and practically radiating hatred. _Oh god._ It almost sent fear down his spine at how very angry Paul looked._ _ _ _

____"To _me?_ What did you do - to _me?"_ The boy pointed to himself, tilting his head in an incredulous, angry confusion. "I'll fucking _tell_ you what you did to me! You act like you own the entire damn school, strutting about, the _perfect_ picture of arrogance! You turn on the charm and suave nature you unfortunately possess and get whatever the fuck you want! You didn't _have_ to work to earn your place at that school! I worked my _arse_ off to get into it! You didn't have to!" Paul was screaming at this point, looking so enraged that John tried to take a step back; he couldn't when he was already up against the wall. _ _ _ _

____"AND you go along with it, not helping at all and in fact agreeing with them, when those arseholes say horrible things! And I know you don't agree with what they fucking say, but you don't speak your fucking mind and you go right along with it, no harm done! Shit, that's almost _worse_ than actually agreeing with them!" _ _ _ _

____John stared in dumbfounded horror, not able to form words as Paul went on and on._ _ _ _

____" _Another_ thing! You've been rude to me from the fucking _START!_ You run your mouth every 10 seconds and you've said awful things to me! How could I NOT dislike you at least a little bit!-" He sucked in a breath. He was standing inches away from John at this point, basically dripping with acrimony; he was about to keep talking, but suddenly there was stomping footsteps sounding below them, and Paul froze, eyes glazing over with panic instantly. In the heat of the moment, he had no idea how truly loud he was being._ _ _ _

____"Paul? What's going on?" There was a deep, nasal voice that sounded from the bottom of the stairs, and John heard footsteps coming closer by the second._ _ _ _

____"Fuck-get in- closet-" Paul immediately grabbed onto John and threw open his closet doors, unceremoniously shoving him inside and slamming them after him, looking anxious and terrified. John stood there, breath shallow and fast. Everything went so _wrong_ in just a matter of minutes. This is not how he expected it to go whatsoever._ _ _ _

____"Hey! Paul, what the hell is going on?? I heard you screaming your head off." The voice was much closer now, and John assumed the man was now in the doorway. Sucking in a breath, willing to keep himself silent, he leaned forward and pushed the door open by just a centimetre, peering through the gap to see what was happening._ _ _ _

____He saw a tall, spindly man standing at the doorway, arms crossed, dressed in pyjamas. He looked tired and irritated at being woken up, but his eyes were alight with concern and worry._ _ _ _

_____So this must be Jim McCartney,_ John thought, brows furrowing as he tried to get a better look at him. He looked quite alike to Paul; he had the same arched brows, the same lip shape, droopy eyelids. _ _ _ _

____"Nothing! Nothing, sorry.." Paul trailed off, glancing in John's direction briefly before looking at the floor, scuffing a foot against it, embarrassed to his core. "I just got angry at somethin'.. sorry to wake you up-" He cut himself off, hoping to god that Jim would buy it._ _ _ _

____The man opened his mouth to say something, but it was cut off when another person entered the room._ _ _ _

____"What's all this racket? I heard you screeching like a banshee from a mile away, Paul." This boy seemed about two years younger than Paul, and he figured he must be his brother._ _ _ _

____"Shut up, Mike." Paul glared at him._ _ _ _

____"Mike, go back to bed, I got this," Jim sighed. Paul's brother made a face in his direction before disappearing into the hallway._ _ _ _

____"Is there someone here? I'm not very mad if so, just a little bit. Tell me the truth, Paul." Jim stared down at him sternly._ _ _ _

____"No, no! There isn't. I'm serious, trust me." Paul nodded seriously, anxious gaze fixing on the closet again before he forced himself to look away._ _ _ _

____"Hmm, alright. Don't stay up for too much longer, okay?" Jim patted his shoulder, kissing his forehead before leaving the room - not without one last suspicious glance around the room. The door shut behind him, and Paul stood there for a moment, checking to see if his father had really left; when he was sure he had, the doe-eyed boy came up to the closet and opened up the doors, grabbing onto John's arm and dragging him out of it._ _ _ _

____John stumbled and tripped over a box that was in the closet, and he fell into Paul's arms, letting out a grunt as the air was knocked out of him. It was a similar sight to a few days ago, and they both leapt away from each other as if they had been burnt._ _ _ _

____Nothing was said for a few seconds, both seeping embarrassment, John feeling his heart racing fast and every hair on his arms standing on end, skin tingling oddly from the contact he made with Paul. He remembered all the things the other had said, and he felt anger surge in his throat like bile._ _ _ _

____"I'm leaving." John stomped past him._ _ _ _

____"Fine! Go! I don't care." Paul shrugged, speaking way too fast to be believable as he gestured to the window as if saying _"be my guest!".__ _ _ _

____"Fine! Me neither!" John glared daggers at him, both locking eyes. Paul scoffed and rolled his eyes, pointedly turning his back._ _ _ _

____The auburn-haired boy stood there for a few moments, feeling like there was something missing all of a sudden. He felt like he should say something else, anything at all - but he felt Paul didn't deserve it when he had torn into him so harshly like that._ _ _ _

____Turning, he opened up the window, the wooden frame groaning at the movement before he began to squeeze out of it to reach the tree. He felt Paul's intense gaze boring into his back._ _ _ _

____"I-" The younger started._ _ _ _

____But John wasn't willing to hear it. He clutched onto the tree - and, instead of climbing down - he leapt to the grass below, landing clumsily. Paul's eyes followed him the entire time. With that, he left the McCartney household, anger stewing in his chest like a boiling-hot soup. When he reached the street and began his trek home, the anger seemed to trickle away like water, into the gutter he kicked a leaf into out of frustration._ _ _ _

____Now he just felt hollow._ _ _ _


	7. 7 ;; party

"So - you've got 'em?"

"Yeah! Be down in 5," 

"'kay, hurry up or we'll be late." 

"Will do, commandant! See ya."

There was a chuckle. "See you."

The phone was put back down on its holder. Sighing, John stretched his stiff limbs high above his head before relaxing; he quickly darted through all the rooms of the house to properly make sure that Mimi hadn't spontaneously decided to come home from her visit to one of her sisters and find that John had 2 bottles of wine and 3 beers out on the table, ready to be taken to the party. Ringo had nicked from his dad's store of alcohol and gotten 3 bottles of vodka and a few beer cans of his own - Stuart had asked them to help out on the drinks, so they had obliged and gotten some stuff. There was never much alcohol in the Smith house, mainly just wine or other fancy drinks if there was any. 

Making his way into the kitchen, John leant over the sink to peer out the window. The sun had gone well below the horizon now, the world outside dark and mysterious, but he knew it would be alive with people having parties and gatherings like lots of people did on the weekend. Excitement raced through his veins, oh-so-ready to get piss drunk and wake up in some random girl's bed, something he loved doing on the weekends. Maybe smoke a bit of pot, too, since that was sometimes fun. Stuart and his artsy friends always had some. It wasn't quite so popular with the regular kids. 

He wondered who would be there. John knew the regulars would be there - their extensive friend group from school, probably some of Stuart's arty friends, maybe some kids from other schools, but a single particular person came to mind. Specifically, Paul. Would he go? George too? He felt it was unlikely, since the pair weren't exactly the most popular. It would be upsetting to not see at least George there, but he didn't care about Paul. He could go to hell for all he cared.

Since the outburst the night before, he hated the younger boy more than ever. He felt there wasn't any point in trying to make friends and break through the overlaying animosity when Paul continued to push him away, and he had made up his mind - he wouldn't interact with him anymore than necessary, and when the task was complete, never again. He'd be just another kid in his classes. Nothing more. 

"Oi! Lenny, open up! You gonna stand there all day and figure out the meanin' of life?"   
A familiar voice cut into his thoughts and he straightened up from leaning against the counter, a little surprised. Grinning as he realised it must be Ringo, he rushed out of the kitchen down the front hallway, flinging open the door.

"Rings! We better get go-" He immediately fell silent, mouth agape. What the-

George stood next to Ringo with a deadpan expression like always, but his eyes glittered with a new friendly warmth. But even worse than that - Paul fucking McCartney. 

The boy was refusing to look at anywhere but the ground, gaze determinedly fixed on his feet, hands in his pockets. He was wearing a white blazer with a little flower in the pocket, black trousers, and a blue-and-black-checkered shirt. He bore white worn out sneakers and his hair was intricately done up in a perfect quiff, looking as neat as ever. The flower is cute, was John's first immediate thought. The next was: NO! What the actual fuck is he doing here with them??? Why??

"Oh." Was all that came out of his mouth, throat suddenly closing up as he gripped the doorway tightly, trying to keep all of his angry emotions from becoming visible as he felt rage beginning to swirl in his stomach like a noxious brew.

"Aye, John! Let us in, will ya? This box is heavy," Ringo was seemingly unaffected, but he had noticed the tightness of his friends movements, so he was staring at him in concern when the auburn-haired boy moved aside to let them in. John - again - ignored the way the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end when Paul's shoulder brushed his own.

"Hey, John. Ready for the party?" George spoke, looking as awkward as John felt. He probably knew exactly how John and Paul felt about each other, and looked embarrassed to have invited him along. John figured that Ringo had invited George, and the boy decided to bring along his best friend. He wasn't all that surprised, anyway. He would've done the same with Ringo if it were him. 

"Yeah. Gonna be gear. Get piss drunk and pull some birds," John grinned. He wasn't going to let Paul ruin his night; he might as well enjoy the time with his friends and just let loose. Grabbing up his wine and beer bottles, he felt someone's eyes on the back of his head - when he turned, he saw there wasn't anyone looking at him, the doe-eyed boy's gaze fixed on the window. 

"Oh, yes! 've actually never been to a party." George's eyes lit up excitedly, sporting a grin; it quickly fell and he coughed, embarrassed, attempting to make hurried amends to his words. "I mean- at this school, yet."

John just nudged him with a smile. "All good, mate."

With that, the four boys set off out of John's place and to Stuart's. Ringo and George started chattering to themselves while John walked a few paces behind, Paul about a metre behind him, keeping to himself, looking disgruntled.

"What are they gonna think when they see us there, Rings?" George sounded fretful as he gazed up at his older friend. "The entire school pretty much hates us except fer you two. I don't want anyone ta start on us or somethin'.." 

"Don't worry, Stu's pretty cool. He won't let anythin' like that happen. Just have fun with us, eh? Let's forget about all those other jerks. You have just a right to be there as anyone, I invited you." Ringo reassured with a warm smile, brushing off a piece of dust that clung to the younger's shoulder in an affectionate matter.

"Yer right. Let's just get wasted and have fun!" George grinned back at him, cheeks flushed shyly at the touch.

They're really cute, John thought with a sigh. I could have that with Cynthia, but.. no. He shook away those thoughts, not really wanting to let them cloud his happiness.

"Did Stuart ask you and Ringo to bring those drinks?" A new voice sounded from next to him and he turned, shocked. Paul's gaze was determinedly fixed in front of him, as if feeling stupid or embarrassed about striking up a conversation with John. He mulled over it for a moment, wondering what his true intentions were, eventually deciding to speak.

"Yeah, I mean - Ringo always knows where to get a supply." John's tongue darted out along his bottom lip briefly, feeling nervous and kind of wishing Paul had never said anything in the first place. 

"I figured. He looks like the kind of guy that knows a lot of people." Paul kicked a nearby rock into the gutter as they continued their trek to Stuart's. John noticed other kids around now, and realised they were about to turn into his friend's street. 

"I guess you could say that," 

The two of them picked up to a jog when they noticed they had fallen a few metres behind George and Ringo, the latter saying hi to a few kids they knew. 

"Oi, John! Ringo!" He recognised Pete Shotton and Carl, and some other kids were with them. "What drinks did you-" They cut off when they saw that George and Paul were standing alongside them. Why would they be there, hanging out with two of the most popular kids in their school??? 

"Oh, I brought some vodka and beer." Ringo answered with a curt nod. Him and John suddenly were aware of how the other kids would perceive them if they kept seeing them hanging out with the kids that the school decided to collectively hate.

"What are they doing here?" One of the kids whispered harshly into Carl's ear. 

"We'll be goin' in now. See you guys later." John brushed past them, Paul at his heels and their friends not far behind. The auburn-haired boy heard rock-n-roll music blasting from inside.

"John! Ringo, hi! Welcome. Thanks fer the drinks," Stu came up to them from the depths of his house, sporting a smile and flushed cheeks, his girlfriend Astrid at his side. She was a lovely, sweet German girl, and John was happy he had found someone after their little experimentation they had long ago. "Oh!" The shorter boy fell short when he spotted George and Paul there. 

"Hey," Paul started, looking uncharacteristically awkward for a moment, looking as if he didn't belong there at all. 

For a second John thought Stuart wouldn't let them in - but after a few heartbeats of tense silence, he moved aside to let the four pass through.

"Hey, George, Paul," Stuart nodded at them. George looked comfortable and relieved that he had been let in, but Paul was looking at Stuart with an odd expression on his face, the two of them tense and stiff. "make yerself at home. Please don't throw up on me carpet, though."

All of them except Paul chuckled; the ebony-haired boy just stayed silent, nodding silently before turning away to move into the house.

"Quiet, isn't he?" Astrid commented in her thick accent. 

"Yeah. See you guys later?" John smiled at them, hugging Stuart briefly - he felt someone's eyes on him again when he did so - before following behind.

The house was packed - teenagers filling the large lounge room space that had been cleared so people could dance, an archway leading to the kitchen on the left and an open door that led to a hallway in the middle wall. Chuck Berry's You Never Can Tell was spinning around on the record player, the speakers connected to it blasting the song so loud that the bass shook the floor a little. Already he saw beer cans littering the floor and there were stacks of drinks in the kitchen.

"Aye, John! Finally got here, eh?" Pete Best called out, looking already tipsy on his feet. Him and Ringo said hello to a few more people, but mainly squeezed past them to get to the kitchen and put their drinks there. There were stares sent their way when people began to notice George and Paul there, hushed whispers dancing about the room. John caught a few "why are those two here?" and "were they invited?"'s before he finally reached the kitchen.

"Booze time!" Ringo clapped his hands together with an excited smirk, the four of them grabbing their own drinks; John got himself a beer can, cracking it open and taking a long swig. He enjoyed the familiar pungent, bitter taste scoring down his throat, sending a wave of warmth down every inch of his body, loosening his muscles within seconds. George had disappeared with a vodka and orange and Ringo - Paul and John were now alone in the kitchen. 

"Ah, good shit." John muttered, taking another swig.

"Right." Paul agreed, holding a beer bottle himself - he tilted it up and chugged half of it within seconds, letting out a loud burp and wiping his mouth before going in again. It was a little concerning at how fast he was drinking. John thought it looked like Paul was planning on getting a little bit more than just drunk. 

"Hey, Paul, take it easy-" John started, reaching out to touch his shoulder when Paul was already drinking the last few drops; he was interrupted, though, when a voice sounded behind him, the person grabbing his shoulder.

"Oi! Cyn's here. Thought you'd like ta know," Stu winked at him, gesturing to the lounge room behind them before disappearing out the side door to the backyard. John paused, looking back at Paul - who was making himself a scotch with coke - and decided to go and talk to Cyn. At least he'd get laid tonight, probably. He didn't want to have to be Paul's babysitter. The boy was 16, he didn't need looking after. If he wanted to get wasted, so be it.

"John! I was looking for you," Cynthia greeted him with a kiss on the lips; John grinned at her and wrapped an arm around her waist. 

"Glad to see ya, love. Want a drink?" 

"Could you get me a vodka orange, please?" She smiled up at him through her lashes. John halted, wishing she hadn't asked him to do it and just gone and done it herself. "I'm gonna go say hi to some people, then meet me back here, 'kay?" With a kiss to his cheek, she left him and squeezed through the dancing sea of people and out of sight. 

Great, now I have to see Paul again when I get her a drink. Taking another long drag at his beer, the almond-eyed boy braced himself and went back into the kitchen. 

Paul was there, as expected; but he was finished making his scotch and coke and now was leaving as he sipped at it, brushing past John without a second glance. John stared after him for a second before turning to make Cynthia's drink. As he was doing it, some other girls came into the kitchen to get themselves drinks. He recognised a few, but couldn't put names to their faces.

"Oh, it's John Lennon!" One whispered excitedly, the other giggling madly. He felt their eyes on him and he decided to indulge - he picked up the drink and sent a wink their way as he went past them back into the lounge, looking as suave as ever. He heard their chorus of joyful giggles echo in his ears as he left them. He hated how some of the girls fawned over him and how everyone always seemed to recognise him; it was something he always relished and strived for, but all of a sudden, in that moment, he wished no one did. 

He found Cynthia chatting with some other girls.

"Hey, babe. Got you yer drink." John came up to her, resting a hand on her hip as she took the drink from him with a word of thanks.

"John Lennon? That's who you're datin'?" One of the girls gaped, a few of the others smiling wide and whispering hurriedly to each other.

"Yes, that's it," Cyn smiled shyly around her drink, cheeks going red.

"That's right, ladies. I snatched her up." John wrapped both arms around her and squeezed her waist, making her yelp and giggle joyfully, the other girls staring on jealously.

Once his girlfriend said goodbye to her friends, they went to sit on one of the large, leather couches. A couple next to them were already making out, and there was another two people chatting there, leaving only space for one last person.

"Sit on me lap?" John gently pulled the girl into his lap, securing his arms comfortably around her stomach as he took more sips of his drink.   
The song had been changed now, so Heartbreak Hotel by the King was playing; one of John's favourite songs. He hummed along to it, hopping his head and tapping his foot.

"D'ye like rock'n'roll, Cyn?" John asked, lifting his head to rest his chin in the crook of her shoulder. She smiled down at him.

"Yeah, it's good to dance to and stuff. My parents don't like it much, though, so I don't get to listen to it much." 

"Oh, tell me about it. It's just 'racket' and 'gobbledygook' accordin' to Mimi." John rolled his eyes. 

"Did she really say gobbledygook?" Cynthia burst out laughing. "I mean, I knew your aunt was conservative, but.."

"I know, it's from like the 1800s." John chuckled along with her. "Then again, sometimes she acts as if she grew up in the Georgian era." 

"She's a nice woman, though. Cares for you." Cynthia kissed the top of his head. He knew he should be feeling something, but he wasn't. It was beginning to make him feel scared. Why can't he feel anything when Cynthia kisses him? When she touches him? He had to feel something. Anything. He always felt stuff when it came to girls. Why wasn't he with her? He knew he was going to break up with her, but he had to keep her around. He had to get rid of the thoughts of Paul. 

"Do you mind gettin' us a beer or two, babe?" John smiled tightly up at her. I need it so I can forget about all this shit.

"Sure, be back in a moment." She stood up, blowing him a kiss as she walked off; he pretended to catch it with a stupid face, making her laugh before she disappeared into the crowd.

"Hey, John! Enjoyin' the party, or are you just sittin' there by yerself?" He looked up to see George and Ringo had come up to him. George's cheeks were growing flushed, and Ringo's eyes were reddened a little. He must have taken a few hits of the weed. 

"Cyn's just gone to get more drinks. I wanna get a bit more drunk before I embarrass myself by dancing yet." John rested his hands in his lap.

"Yeah, yer dancin' is shit." Ringo laughed loudly, going to sit next to John and making the other people next to him scoot over - George squeezed in between them, looking like he was already getting tipsy, pupils dilated.

"John's dancin' is shit?? Really?" He cackled.

"It is not!" John protested with a frown. 

"It is a little funny," Cynthia's sweet voice joined in as she came back with the drinks. John took the beer he got her gratefully, opening it up and taking a long drag.

"What is this, Make Fun of John Day?" He grumbled as Cynthia sat back down in his lap. She looked uncomfortable and tense when she realised that George was there.

"Every day is Make Fun of John Day." The bushy-browed boy was seemingly oblivious of it, though. 

"Shut up." John rolled his eyes, punching him on the shoulder.

The next half an hour or so, John finished his beer quickly and then another, and now had a thing of coffee tequila. George and Ringo had left the couple to join the weed-smokers again, and Paul was still nowhere to be seen. 

John's mind was slow now, mind cloudy and hazy, thoughts sluggish and filter on his words vanishing. Not that he had much of a filter, anyway. His cheeks were hot and so were the tips of his ears, and he was now lazily kissing Cynthia, arms wrapped around her as she sat on his lap. He was quite drunk, now, and all he could think was: horny, and get laid. So that's what he decided they would do. 

"Let's take thiss somewhere.. else, y-yeah?" He blinked up at her, suddenly having problems with keeping his sticky eyelids open. She was gazing down at him with a shy look on her face, but she was about as tipsy as him. I don't want to fuck you, though, he almost said out loud. But I hate how fucking cute Paul is. No.. I didn't mean that. Fuck Paul. He isn't cute. 

"He's not cute." He muttered out loud, glaring angrily into his almost finished drink before he downed the last of the liquid. It looked like liquid chocolate. Cynthia's eyes looked like pools of chocolate. He wouldn't like to eat them, though. He figured eyeballs didn't taste as good as chocolate.

"Imagine- imagine.." John started with a giggle as the two got to their feet. He suddenly wanted another beer and led her to the kitchen. "if we ate eyeballs an' they tasted l-like th' colour. Of the eyeballs." He realised it sounded so much stupider said out loud, but he genuinely wanted to know what Cynthia thought. 

"Wh.. what? Why would we eat eyeballs?" She stared at him in a drunken confusion, letting out an incredulous chuckle as John grabbed another beer, tilting his head back and putting it to his lips to messily chug a few mouthfuls. It dripped down his chin and his neck and he pulled away in shock at the cold feeling.

"Fuck!" He groaned. Why was he clumsy and spilled shit on himself? Oh, right, being drunk. He wondered where Paul was. Or George. Or Ringo. They were probably getting high still with those other guys, maybe Paul had already gone home. No! I don't want him to go home. I wanna say hi. He glared at the beer in his hand like it was the root of all his problems in the world. Why did you make me think I want to say hi to Paul?

"I d...don' wanna see 'im, th' prick..." He felt his words beginning to slur and meld together, everything around him blurry and he tried to comprehend who was in front of him. Oh, yeah, Cynthia. God, his head was heavy. When did his head become heavy? Were heads always heavy and we only realised it when we were drunk and didn't have the ability to perform basic cognitive functions to hold us back anymore? 

"Who don't yyy-you wanna see?" Cynthia blinked. 

"Oh-nothin'." John quickly shook his head. I shouldn't have said things out loud. Silly John, always speaking things and saying words.. 

He began to stumble his way out of the kitchen, determined to get through the crowd that stretched out in front of him. Why did it look like there were so many people here? How big was Stuart's house? He was squeezing through them all, being knocked one way and another and suddenly losing sight of Cynthia. 

"Hey, John! What's up?" Someone spoke to him, their voice echoing strangely in his ears like they were far off. He looked up, eyes squinted harshly to try and focus on who was in front of him. Kevin! Rage suddenly swelled in his chest and he clenched his teeth, spitting in the boy's face. He remembered the incident with Paul. He hurt Paul and George. He deserved to get his throat kicked in for being a stinking homophobe. 

"Fuck off, prick!" 

There were gasps that followed him as he burst out into the backyard. Sighing in deep relief at the cool air outside, he let his head hang back and shut his eyes. This was much better than the hot, stuffy rooms of the house. But he had forgotten about the fact that Kevin might follow him, and there was a harsh shove to his back.

John! Feet! Move. Feet. He quickly caught himself before he fell to the grass and turned to see who it was, irritation bubbling in his throat. Kevin! I'll teach him a fucking lesson for trying to beat up my friends. Wait, Paul isn't my friend. But he still shouldn't have tried to beat him up. 

"What the fuck is yer problem, eh?" Kevin was yelling and it was really loud. It was so loud! Piercing his ears like a bomb going off. 

"My problem, is-" John started, swaying on his feet. Why was there two of Kevin now? Did he have a brother? The ground was suddenly moving like the floor of a ship at sea. Interesting. Oh, yeah, I'm fighting Kevin. "yer a fuckin' arsehole! Think its-it's fun tt-to beat up people when they done nuffin' to ya?" 

"They deserve it fer being puny weaklings or disgustin' fags! You tellin' me yer defendin' them now?" Kevin glared at him. John wanted to fight him. Let's punch him! 

He swung as hard as his drunken self could possible manage. There was an ear-splitting crack and he saw blood fly from Kevin's nose.

"Fuck!" The boy roared and leapt on him. Suddenly, he was on the round and Kevin was on top of him, throwing blows down at him with such a ferocity that John wasn't able to combat it. He didn't know this would end like that. Kevin was less drunk than him, and now all he could do was do his best to defend himself. Fuck! Why did I have to punch him?

"Stop it!" He screeched hoarsely but was replied with a punch to the throat. Pain blossomed across his neck and throbbed in his face, and he felt something wet dripping down his chin. How do I get out of this... how do I get him to stop?.. he felt his thoughts slowing down more and more and his eyes were closing.. 

"Get off of him!" A voice screamed. It sounded like it was miles away, and he felt the weight of Kevin above him suddenly disappear and the punches stopped. He laid there for a moment, reeling from the intense pain and shock; c'mon, get up, he chanted softly to himself, willing him back to life as he opened his sticky eyelids. Only one eye wanted to open, though, the other felt swollen and throbbed painfully. 

"John! John!" The voice called again, and suddenly he was looking into Paul's eyes. Paul.. Paul. He stared in shock. He saved him! 

"Paul," He started, but his throat hurt so badly that he winced and cried out.

"Shh.. it's-it's-" The boy was struggling to speak himself, and he realised he must be drunk, but not as much as John had gotten. "it's okay. C'mon, I'll.. get you home.."

"What happened? Oh my god, John!" He heard Cynthia's distressed voice, but exhaustion was clinging to him so tightly that he could do nothing but support himself in Paul's arms.

"You're warm.." He murmured into Paul's shoulder. He was warm. He liked the way his arms felt around him. 

"Uhm, you.. too?" Paul sounded confused, and he gathered the boy further in his arms. "'m gonna get ye home, 'kay? I'll.. I'll see ye later George, Ringo." Oh, when did they get here? John couldn't open his eyes. He wanted to, but it hurt.. 

"What happened to John?" Ringo sounded anxious. Ringo! His friend. He hoped Ringo had had a good time. 

"Kevin killed me," he muttered. He hadn't been able to open his eyes yet.

"'e..www-was fightin' Kevin. 'm takin' him home now," He felt himself be fully picked up bridal style by Paul and the sound of the party began to fade. He snuggled deeper into the other's chest, relishing his warmth and surprising strength.

"How did-did you pick m'up?" He poked a finger into his chest. Paul was skinny! He didn't have much muscle.

"I'm stronger than y-you think, mate!" Paul giggled lazily and he heard him stumble and trip over a crack in a sidewalk, almost sending the two tumbling to the ground. 

"Don't fall an' kill us, Paul.." John wanted to feel his warmth more. He liked how soft and comfortable he felt in his arms. The drunken boy let his hand snake up and around his neck with a lazy grin.

"Why would we die from fallin'..?" Paul's voice was soft and funny-sounding. Paul was being nice to him. Why was he being nice to him? He saved him from being beaten to a pulp. Maybe because he didn't like Kevin and didn't want him to succeed in what he wanted. But now he was taking him home. Paul was being nice. Why?

"Why're'y neing bice?" He stuttered incoherently, realising he said something wrong. "I - sorry, meant... bein' nice." 

"I wasn't.. gonna let you be almost killed ll-like that." Paul sounded irritated, as if he was annoyed that John thought that. "m not .. heartless. You should see hah-how much blood yer covered in."

"Blood? Where?" John tried to open his eyes, but it hurt too much - he nuzzled further into Paul's chest with a sigh. "Mmm.." 

"E-everywhere. Like.. every- everywhere. Just-" Paul was giggling incoherently, babbling at this point to himself. "everywhere. On your heads, h-hhh-hands, face, shirt.. arms... legs.."

John could listen to his voice all day. What? No.. why was he liking Paul so much all of a sudden?? Paul was an arse! He was a meanie. A no-no. He didn't like Paul. He had to stop enjoying his smell of vanilla and beer. 

"Stop fuckin' smellin' nice." He growled.

"I can't help it!" Paul giggled again. "Sorry, need.. get inside. Keys. John, keys to door." He felt himself be pressed up against a hard wooden thing. Door, right.

"Yes, yes, give me a f-fuckin' second.." John stuck his hand into his pocket; he grabbed something metallic and held it out. "keys?"

"Y-yes.. thanks, good. Keys. Inside." He heard fumbling as Paul attempted to get the key in the keyhole.

"Hurry up! 's cold." John complained loudly.

"Shhhhhhh! 'm tryin'-" Paul shushed him with annoyance laced in his voice. "to be quiet. If.. yer aunt is in, how the fuck will I explain,?" 

"Just.. say yer droppin' me off."

"'Kay," He felt a blast of warm air as the door was opened and Paul stumbled inside. The door was slammed shut after him, and John called out;

"Hello! Hellooooooooooo? Is the Mimi Smith home? Hello?" 

"Shh!" Paul tensed. 

There was silence and after a few seconds, a sigh of relief from the younger.

"'Kay, we're good." 

Footsteps made their way up the stairs, and John finally was able to open his eyes. He stared at the underside of Paul's jaw through slightly blurry vision. It was nice. A nice jaw.

"Nice jaw," John sighed, reaching up hand to touch it for a moment; moving hurt, though, so he only touched it for a second.

"Thanks. I try." Paul's pupils were blown wide and his eyes were bloodshot, John noticed, and his cheeks were so damn red.

"How do you try with a jaw?" John furrowed his brows, seeing his bedroom door open next to him as Paul pushed it open.

"I d-" he was cut off. John felt a sickening swing in his stomach and felt as if he was flying through the air until suddenly his back hit something soft and bouncy. He was on the bed, and he felt a weight press down on him hard; dizziness shot through his head for an moment, vision blurring madly before it finally focussed.

Paul was hovering above him, looking just as shocked that he had tripped and they were planted on John's bed. John stared intently at the curve of his slim nose and dark eyelashes. He was so close. Why was he so close? His gaze darted down to his plump, chapped lips that looked really fucking tempting all of a sudden. _Wow, I really want to kiss him. Fuck, I want to kiss him so badly. God.. he looks so fucking good._

He felt, even in his hazy, incoherent mind, the tension thickening in the room, crackling like lift him. There was a jolt in his stomach as Paul sat on it. As they laid there, he noticed Paul's face had suddenly got closer; he knew what was going to happen, his deepest, most buried desire being fulfilled. His eyes fell shut, anticipating the feel of Paul's plump lips against his..

But instead of a kiss, he was met with vomit. 

Vomit reeking of potent alcohol that spilled from Paul's lips and all over John's mouth and chest. It fell into his mouth and he spluttered, suddenly sobering up at the disgusting puke being thrown up all over him.

"Oh- oh my god-" John almost could cry. Paul heaved and one last shot of green vomit splashed onto his shirt before he collapsed on the bed next to him, babbling apologies as he keeled over.

"Sorry, oh my god, I'm sorry..." 

"Shit-" John flew to a sitting position and vomited all his drinks he had in the past few hours onto the floor. His head throbbed with the effort and he dry heaved a few more times before collapsing onto his back. He wondered why there were always carrot bits in vomit. He hadn't had carrot that day.

"Sssss.sorry.." Paul's voice was so quiet and already the boy's eyes were shut, breath slowly evening out until he was deep in sleep.

John felt exhaustion suddenly drag his limbs down, and he mustered enough strength to peel his vomit-soaked shirt off his body before succumbing to the awaiting arms of slumber. 

His last thought was; 

_So much for that kiss._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heheheheheh (: also unrelated but i dyed my hair fully bright red yesterday!! it looks so bright like a wig its kinda weird lol


	8. 8 ;; hangover

Pain, vibrating and pulsing through his his head, was the first thing that John registered that morning. His limbs ached, one of his eyes was swollen shut and throbbing, and his throat felt stripped raw and tender. His headache was so overwhelming that he let out a hoarse, agonised noise and clutched onto the person that was sleeping below him. _Hurts.._ he tried to will himself to sink back into sleep and forget about the pain for a few hours longer. But alas - bright, dazzling light was worming its way into his good eye, so piercing that he shied away from it as best he could, burying his head into a clothed chest. _Mm.. Cynthia is warm.._ he thought, letting his chapped lips pull up into a lazy smile; he felt it split when he did so, pain shooting through it as something wet welled on his bottom lip and rolled onto the chest.

He darted out his tongue to taste it. Blood? He thought in a hazy confusion. John gathered as much strength as he could manage. It felt like he was lifting 100-kilo weights that had been pressed down on his eye when he peeled the sticky lids open. The sunlight was so bright that he let out a noise that somewhat resembled a hiss and held up a hand to block out some of the light. _Come on.._ he told himself. _Focus, eyes. C'mon, focus..._ after a few silent seconds of adjusting to the light, his vision began to clear away to reveal the scene in front of him.

A person was lying below him, sporting a plain white t-shirt with some weird dried green-brown stains on it; John realised that there wasn't any boobs on the person. _It's not Cynthia?_ His good eye flew wide open and he instantly sat up, heart jerking with fear abruptly. There was a raven-coloured head of hair poking out from under the bedsheets, and he saw a glimpse of pale skin and an arched brow.

He gulped. _Could it be..?_ Slowly he leaned forward, reaching out a hand to pull the bedsheets back. He saw his knuckles on one of his hands were cut and bloodstained and he reeled back in horror for a moment.

_What the fuck happened last night?_

Continuing with his mission, John wrapped his fingers around the edge of the blankets and pulled them back. What he saw made his heart skip a beat and all his breathing died in his throat.

The boy was fast asleep, snoring loudly with his plump lips parted. A pool of drool had gathered under his mouth, doe eyes shut out from the world. His dark lashes rested delicately on the top of his cheeks, and he looked sickly and paler than usual.

Paul! He... he was in fucking bed with PAUL. A hoarse screech ripped from his throat and he stumbled and tripped to the floor in his haste to get out of the bed.

"Gah! Ew-" He had landed back-first in a pile of half-dried vomit and he scrambled away, throat convulsing in a gag, feeling his stomach churn and something flying up his throat. He instantly sprinted to the bathroom and managed to make it to the toilet before he threw up all his stomach acid. There must have been nothing in his stomach, since he had obviously thrown it all up from the night before.

"Oh my god.." John groaned as he fell back against the tiled wall of the bathroom. His throat stung horribly from throwing up his stomach acid and he felt something sticky and warm roll down his top lip. With shaky limbs, he got to his feet and stumbled to the sink. He supported his weak body by leaning against the sides of the sink before staring into his reflection intensely. "Fuck!" He cried out.

He looked almost dead; his skin was ghostly pale and his eyes were sunken into their sockets, wild and bloodshot with dark rings around them. Even worse! One of his eyes looked like a plum, the eyelids coloured deep purple and swollen twice their size, closed up to protect the eyeball within. His hair was sticking straight up in all directions possible and was greasy and had curled more than usual. And that wasn't even the half of it.

Dried blood. Everywhere. Fresh blood was steadily dripping from his nostril, while dried blood was smeared over his cheeks and caked on his chin. He felt around his mouth with his tongue and winced as pain shot up his gums. A long cut was on his cheek and blood had dried around that, too - his bottom lip was split in the middle and blood was drying on the cut, and there was was a steadily purpling bruise on his neck that was extremely sore and tender. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and he had noticed his vomit covered shirt on the floor. He had taken it off. Looking at his chest, he noticed a bruise on his shoulder as well, but that seemed about all of his injuries.

"Fuck.. did I get into a fight?" He murmured, a shaky hand coming up to gently probe the neck bruise. It definitely wasn't a hickey, it was too big and dark for that. But what else happened last night? He couldn't remember much of it. Closing his eyes, he searched his memory to try and see what happened.

He saw glimpses of someone's rage-filled face staring down at him as he threw blow after blow; no - _Kevin's_ face! Fuck, John might have let slip something or said something to piss him off. _Great going, arsehole,_ he thought bitterly. He remembered making out with Cynthia, thinking about chocolate, then being thrown up on... that would explain the vomit. The vision was blurry, though, and he couldn't put a face to it. It was probably Paul. Why else would he be there? Did Paul take him home after he got beaten to a pulp?? But he wasn't actually that badly beaten. He knew Kevin probably would have punched him within an inch of his life, so maybe something stopped it abruptly. Where was George and Ringo?

Oh! George and Ringo. He could ask them what happened and maybe glean some more information out of them. More than he already had gotten from his own memories, anyway.

Once looking over himself, John began to clean up. He washed off all the dried blood and wrapped his torn knuckles in a bandage, but decided to leave the cuts untouched as they were small and would heal themselves.

"Okay, ice.." John muttered to himself before leaving the bathroom. Walking down the hallway, he heard shuffling and distressed muttering coming from his bedroom and he fell short, pausing to listen.

"Why the fuck am I here? What happened?" He heard Paul saying out loud. _Shit, he must have woken up.._

John sucked in a breath, preparing himself to go in and confront the situation. The more he avoided it, the worse it would get. It would just be better to get it over with. He made his way to the door and pushed it open, walking inside.

"I- John?" Paul stared at him in absolute horror. The entire room stunk of alcoholic vomit and John wrinkled his nose in disgust. He'd have to clean all this up before Mimi came home. "What the hell am I doing here? What happened last night?"

"You tell me. I woke up with you in me bed." John retorted irritatedly, stepping up to his closet to grab out a shirt and pull it on.

"Fuck off, wouldja? I'm just as confused as you are." Paul glared at him scathingly, holding his head with a soft "ow" afterwards, wincing at the pain. "Why do you look like a horde of horses stomped all over you?"

"I got in a fight with Kevin.. I remember snippets of it." John admitted, crossing his arms over his chest. He was standing on one end of the room, Paul all the way across at the other, curled up on the bed. The tension was palpable, and he felt like there was miles and miles between them.

"Do you remember... anythin' else?"

John knew exactly why he was asking that. Why they had woken up in bed together... why hadn't Paul gone home after dropping him off. John wasn't going to mention the fact that they had been cuddling when he woke up.

"I remember being thrown up on.. makin' out with Cynthia. Thinkin' about chocolate. That's it. I remember everything before I started getting drunk, from there it's hazy." John shrugged, gaze darting to the floor. "What about you?" He lifted his head to lock eyes with Paul.

"Uhm.." Paul trailed off. Something flashed in his eyes but it was quickly gone, his facade being put up as he shrugged nonchalantly. "I remember hangin' out with some random dudes. George and Ringo offering weed. Tripping and almost falling to the pavement while carryin' somethin'..it might have been you." John began to get the suspicion that Paul wasn't being totally honest with him.

"Wow, you carried me home? What a gentleman." John joked.

Paul glared with a clenched jaw, eyes glittering angrily. He was obviously not in the mood for jokes. He looked like shit , too, John noticed - his hair was tousled and sticking up every which way and he had bags under his eyes and his eyes were bloodshot. He looked like every hungover teenager ever.

"I'm gettin' water," The younger stood up and promptly left the room.

John watched him go with an irritated sigh. He wanted Paul out of the house as soon as possible; he felt like he'd snap and probably punch him if he was around him any longer. He couldn't help but feel like something happened last night .... something neither of them could remember. Why did they wake up cuddled in bed together? Wouldn't Paul have just taken the couch at least? John felt a cold trickle of fear down his back. What if something happened between them?

_Shut up, John, _he scolded himself. _Nothing happened, and now you gotta clean up this vomit and get Paul out of your house.___

__So that was what he did - he went outside (cringing at the bright sunlight and cold air) and to the shed to get out a mop and a bucket of water. Once getting them, he came back up to his room; when he did so, he found Paul standing awkwardly next to the bed, realising there was vomit on the sheets, a half-drunken glass of water in hand._ _

__"Can you help me?" John asked as he began to mop up the vomit on the floor._ _

__"Uhm," Paul looked reluctant, nose scrunched up in disgust at the terrible smell of the vomit._ _

__"Look mate, half of this is yours, so could you just help me out?" He paused in his movements, locking eyes with the younger with an annoyed furrow of his brow._ _

__"Fine." Paul agreed with a petulant glare his way; he drank the last of his water and put the glass down on John's bedside table._ _

__"Open up me window, would ya? It'll let in some fresh air. Then gather all the sheets and put it in the washin' machine in the bathroom next to my room."_ _

__"'kay," The boy did as requested, opening up the window to begin airing the disgusting smell out before gathering up John's bedsheets to take to the washing._ _

__Within a few minutes, John had cleaned up all traces of vomit on the floor and Paul had disposed of the bedsheets. John replaced his old sheets with a set of new ones he got out of the closet, and lit up a few scented candles to try and air out the lingering smell._ _

__"It feels like it'll smell like vomit forever in here." Paul grimaced._ _

__"Whatever," John rolled his eyes, lip curling in barely-suppressed resentment._ _

__Paul glared at him from eyes alight with anger._ _

__"What?" John felt mildly uncomfortable._ _

__"Let's just forget this ever happened, alright? I'm going home." Paul turned away and began to leave the room without looking back._ _

__"Fine. Bye." John crossed his arms again and watched as Paul slammed the bedroom door after himself, listening to his footsteps down the stairs and out the front door. He stayed in his spot for a few moments more, feeling defeated. It felt like Paul knew more about what happened last night than he had let on. But he was determined to find out exactly what had gone down._ _

__Hurrying out of his room, the almond-eyed boy grabbed a glass of water, downing it hungrily before moving to the phone. Picking it up, he dialled Ringo's number and pressed it to his ear, listening to the quiet beeping that indicated that the person was being called. Seconds dragged by and there wasn't any answer. Eventually it went unanswered, the ringing stopping; John groaned in annoyance and dialled it again._ _

__"What the hell is takin' him so long to answer?" He grumbled._ _

__There wasn't any answer to his second call for several heartbeats, and John was about to put the phone down and give up until suddenly the beeping stopped and there was a husky, sleepy voice on the other end._ _

__"Hello?"_ _

__"George! It's John." He didn't feel like questioning why George was at Ringo's house. "Where's Ringo?"_ _

__"Snorin' loudly in his bed." He could almost see the boy's fanged grin. "Why? What's up?"_ _

__"I need to know what the hell happened last night." John rested an elbow against the mantel._ _

__"Oh, yeah.. last night was pretty wild." George giggled. "A lot of it is a blur."_ _

__"Wake Ringo up and come over here, will ya?"_ _

__"Yeah, no problem. See you in a few,"_ _

__John said his goodbyes and George hung up. Sighing, he decided he might as well do with a shower to rid the smell of alcohol and B.O off of him. He lifted an arm to smell his armpit and reeled back in disgust._ _

__Dashing back up the stairs, he picked some clothes out - a black t-shirt and some jeans. Entering the bathroom, he dumped the clothes to the floor and stripped of his previous ones. Turning on the shower, he waited a few seconds for the water to warm up before stepping into it, shutting the shower door after him._ _

__It was always one of the best feelings to have a shower after getting wasted the night before. His hangover had lessened a bit now, but his head still ached, and he reminded himself to take medication once having the shower. Blindly grabbing for the shampoo, he squeezed dollops onto his hair and lathered it into his locks, eyes falling shut. His cuts stung at the hot water but he ignored it. Once he finished washing the shampoo out and conditioner, he used some soap to get rid of his body odour before shutting off the water. He stood there for a few seconds, watching the water dribble into the drain, exhaustion pulling at his limbs. He would have a nap later on in the day._ _

__"John? Where are ya?" He heard voices calling from the floor below and stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel and beginning to dry himself. It must be George and Ringo._ _

__"In the shower!" He called._ _

__"Someone left the door unlocked," George's floated up to him, their footsteps growing closer as they made their way up the stairs._ _

__"Oh, it'd have been Paul." John sighed in annoyance._ _

__"Paul? He was here?" Ringo asked incredulously. He knew why he sounded so shocked._ _

__"Yeah, I'll explain. Go to me room and wait a moment, will ya?" John began to pull on his fresh clothes._ _

__There were footsteps that drifted past him and he heard them enter his bedroom._ _

__"Woah, so many candles! Why the mop and bucket, John?" George spoke._ _

__"Vomit." John answered plain and simple. Checking himself in the mirror after getting fully dressed, he threw the towel onto his shoulder and left the bathroom, cringing at the cold floorboards of the hallway._ _

__"Really? W-" Ringo fell short when John entered their room, letting out a frightened noise._ _

__"Oh my god! What the hell happened, John?" George stared in shock at his bruises and cuts._ _

__"I got in a fight with Kevin," John grimaced, going to lie on the bed. George hopped up beside him while Ringo followed more slowly, sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, looking tired and hungover._ _

__"Oh, yeah! I remember that. Blood was pouring from Kevin's nose, I think you broke it!"_ _

__"What??" John gaped. Well, at least he got a good hit in! "Hell yeah. I didn't know whether I dealt any damage at all, I was so pissed."_ _

__"Yeah, and I remember vaguely - Paul sayin' he'd take you home, and he was holding you and you were all bloody." Ringo agreed, looking thoughtful._ _

__"Uh- really?" John fell silent for a moment, heart jumping weirdly. Paul took him home? Did he stop the fight? He remembered someone coming in to stop it. But he couldn't put a face to it.. was it Paul that did that?_ _

__"Yeah. He looked really worried. But also really drunk." Ringo chuckled._ _

__"Oh, right." John licked his lips nervously, unsure of what to make of that. "Uh- do you guys remember anythin' else? At all?"_ _

__"I remember laughin' really hard at some joke Ringo made and smokin' weed..." George's expression grew serious as he concentrated on trying to remember what had happened. "and I remember that fight. Oh, and dancin' with a bunch of girls." He grinned. John noticed his older friend's expression change briefly._ _

__"What about you, Rings?" He turned to him._ _

__"Oh, I remember kind of the same as George, but not makin' that joke." Ringo chuckled. "And what I said before."_ _

__"Right," John sighed. "God, I wish I could remember more about what happened.. I woke up with Paul in me bed and I was terrified."_ _

__"Really?" Ringo's eyes lit up and he smirked teasingly. "You sure somethin' didn't happen?"_ _

__"Shut up!" John hissed, fear surging horribly in his chest as Ringo said that in front of George. What if George was going to hate him for that? He didn't know about John's.. preferences. Ringo's eyes went wide and he quickly amended his words._ _

__"I meant like - I thought you guys would've fought or somethin'."_ _

__The two long-time friends fell deadly silent as they waited for George's reaction._ _

__"What'd'ya lookin' at me for? I haven't spoken to Paul yet today." George's brows furrowed in confusion, oblivious to the entire thing that just happened between the two. Thank god. John almost sighed out loud in relief._ _

__"Anyways," The auburn-haired boy decided to change the subject. "I'm really tired today, I just want to sleep. You guys should go home and rest yerselves."_ _

__"True. I've never been this hungover before," The dark-eyed boy grimaced. "ma'll start freakin' if I'm gone too long. She's already probably had a heart attack 'cause I stayed at Ringo's last night."_ _

__"Aw, our arl' Georgie bein' a rebel already!" John grinned impishly, nudging his side. "I've taught you well."_ _

__"Shurrup," George grinned, eyes sparkling with happiness._ _

__"Okay, see you later?" Ringo smiled as he stood up, the youngest of the group following behind._ _

__"Yeah, see you guys on Monday, eh?" John smiled back at the two._ _

__"Monday? Fuck.. school." George groaned, shivering at the thought of having to go back to that god-forsaken place so soon._ _

__"I know, man, I know," John consoled with a deep sigh._ _

__The three said their last goodbyes before George and Ringo left the house, leaving the almond-eyed boy all alone in his house. Slowly, he sunk into the bed and pulled the sheets up to his neck, sighing comfortably. He knew Mimi wouldn't be back until later in the evening, and he also knew she would absolutely freak when she came back to see him in such a state when she had been off visiting family._ _

__For now, he decided to catch up on some much needed sleep._ _

__-_ _

__

__John stood leaning over the phone, hand resting against the wall as he dialled Paul's number he had looked up in the phonebook. He was feeling a ways' better than the day before, having slept for a long time during that nap, and now it was Sunday. He had almost slept through the afternoon and night until Sunday morning, but his hunger awoke him in the evening. Oh, and Mimi being furious to find his dishevelled state._ _

__There had been about 3 rings before someone answered._ _

__"Hello, McCartney residence?" Fuck! It was Jim who answered. His breath hitched but he tried to keep himself calm, reminding himself that he hadn't actually met him that night when he had snuck into Paul's room. But the man probably had heard of him and his antics, and would probably not even let him in if he saw how beat up he looked._ _

__"Hi, uh- this is John, I'm here for Paul?"_ _

__"John who?" Jim sounded suspicious._ _

__"Lennon, sir." John eventually answered, eyes shutting tight as he braced himself for what was about to happen._ _

__"Hmm." The man made a disapproving noise, but nothing more was said on the matter, and he heard him call "Paul! John Lennon's on the phone for you." There was silence for a few seconds, then some shuffling and an unexpected voice butting in with " _John Lennon?_ You're friends with him, Paul?" He recognised it as Mike, and he sounded awestruck and excited at the thought of his brother being friends with such a popular kid._ _

__"I'm not!" The doe-eyed boy protested, and he heard some mutterings too quiet for him to decipher from Jim then another huff from Paul. His voice was suddenly closer, and John thought he must have picked up the phone. "I'm not, da', honestly- John? What the hell you callin' for?" He was speaking to him now._ _

__He couldn't help but start to laugh at the whole interaction, and he could almost see Paul's angry face glaring at him from through the little holes in the plastic._ _

__"Stop fuckin' laughin'!" He sounded terribly embarrassed, and it just made him laugh harder._ _

__"I-I'm askin'-" John cut himself off to try and stop laughing any longer, eventually succeeding after a few seconds of snorting. "okay, I'm chill. Anyways, we need to work on the song - I can't come over 'cause yer dad wouldn't let me in seein' me all beat up, and Mimi'd be mad if I had people over, so let's meet somewhere."_ _

__There was silence on Paul's end for a few moments, until he spoke up, sounding reluctant.  
"Where exactly do you propose?"_ _

__"Strawberry Fields? You know where that is, right?" John tapped his finger against the mantelpiece._ _

__"Oh, yeah. Uhm- sure. Let's just get this over with, alright?" There was a sigh._ _

__"Yep. See you there." John ended the call curtly, dreading the whole thing, but knowing he had to do it if they wanted to finish the song in time. He turned to address Mimi now._ _

__"Mimi, I'm gonna go to a friend's place to do some schoolwork. 's that okay?"_ _

__He stood in the front hallway, pulling his jacket closer to his body as he opened up the front door, shivering at the cold blast of air that rolled in from outside._ _

__"Alright. But if you get in another fight or something, you will have consequences," she rested her hands on her hips, staring down at him sternly. He sighed. He had had enough of a talking-to from her the day before - when she came back from her family visiting trip and saw him fast asleep and looking absolutely battered. She didn't ground him or anything, thank god; just gave him a long pep talk about how he should "be peaceful" and "don't start things". Would that stop him from starting shit in the future? No._ _

__"I promise I'm not gonna." John put his hand over his heart, standing attentively but with a hint of banter._ _

__"Fine. Be back by dinner." She sighed in presumed defeat and went back into the kitchen._ _

__John turned and left the house, shutting the door after him - he didn't like how he had to call Paul a friend, but what else would he have called him? My school-project-partner? My person-I-really-dislike-but-might-secretly-enjoy-his-company-deep-down? Well, no way would John admit that to himself anytime soon._ _

__Since Paul hadn't been on school on Friday, they would have to squeeze in an extra session to fully finish the song before Tuesday's deadline. They would finish composing the song on Sunday, use up their time on Monday to learn to perform it in full, then Tuesday would be the day they perform it at the school assembly. It was a daunting thought, but it was a necessary thing, so it wasn't like either of them could complain._ _

__As he walked through the streets to Strawberry Fields, he realised that the time that him and Paul had to interact was coming to an end. After the performance, they probably wouldn't have to interact for the rest of the year unless they were somehow partnered up again for some project. It was unlikely, though. He felt elated at the thought of not having to deal with the younger's bullshit and rudeness, but almost disappointed that it was ending so soon. Even if they fought constantly and hated each other's guts, it's not like they were the worst interactions. They still had some good times in spite of that. And they did sound good together when they sung._ _

__Eventually, he reached the gigantic red gates, staring up at them with a wistful sigh. He remembered times when he would come here when he was pissed off and needed to get away from everyone, countless hours spent there with Ringo, and times with his mum as well, when he started spending time with her again, before..._ _

__Quickly shaking away the darkening thoughts, he leant up against the wall and struck up a cigarette as he waited for Paul to get there. The sun was high in the sky now, but it had been obscured by light grey clouds. The ground was littered with fallen leaves, the trees slowly stripping themselves bare; there was a cool breeze that wafted through the air and John kind of regretted deciding they should practice at Strawberry Fields._ _

__After a few minutes of just puffing on his cig and staring into the distance, he spotted a familiar figure jogging up to him from the other side of the road, their features coming into sight as they drew closer with each step._ _

__"Hey," Paul's mask was on again, and he looked distant and indifferent to the whole situation. He was carrying his trusty leather notebook, and his guitar was strapped to his back, free of its case this time. John blinked at him for a moment before pushing off the wall._ _

__"Hi. Let's get on with it, shall we?" His nerves were running wild again for some odd reason, but he just let Paul take the lead as the younger pushed the gate open and made his way inside. John followed more slowly, taking another long drag of his cigarette that was beginning to burn to the stub._ _

__"D'you really have to smoke right now?" Paul glanced at him disdainfully, nose wrinkling at the acrid smoke._ _

__"Yeah. Want one?" John took out his packet and held it out to Paul as an offering._ _

__"I told you, I don't smoke." A petulant glare was shot his way and the boy turned to look at the ground, kicking at a nearby rock._ _

__"Stubborn as always, I see," John commented with a roll of his eyes. Just to annoy him further, he tossed his butt to the ground and struck up another one, enjoying the feel of the smoke flooding his lungs and billowing into the air afterwards._ _

__"Can you go one fuckin' day without being a tosser?" Paul growled. The two came up to an ancient willow tree that overlooked a stagnant pond; deciding that it was a good enough place to work, John promptly sat down and placed his guitar in his lap, leaning his back against the trunk of the tree._ _

__"Nope." He grinned at Paul, enjoying the increasing exasperation coming from him as he got on his nerves more and more. This is fun, he thought with another drag, purposely blowing the smoke in his direction._ _

__"Stop it, for god's sake!" Paul clenched his teeth, anger sparking in his gaze as he impatiently flipped open his notebook in front of them. "Can we just work so I don't have to deal with you bein' a prick any longer than necessary?" He positioned his guitar on his lap, resentful fingers positioning to be ready to play._ _

__"Yer askin' for it." John just shrugged._ _

__"Yer askin' to be punched in the bloody face." He pretended to pause, tilting his head mockingly. "Aw, wait - Kevin already did that for me."_ _

__John scowled at him, trying to keep his composure and not start calling Paul rude profanities, as much as he desired to do so._ _

__"I'm just sayin', he gave you a right shiner." Paul gestured to his black eye._ _

__"Yeah, and I gave him a broken nose when I was piss drunk. Which you'll have soon if you don't fuckin' shut yer stupid gob and get on with our song, and I'm stone cold sober right now." He hissed._ _

__Paul scoffed with a roll of his eyes._ _

__"Fine. C'mon," He seemed to relent. John was surprised he had done so that quickly, but said nothing on it and got to work.  
They played the bits they already knew a few times before finishing up the last of the lyrics, changing up a few chords to make sure everything was perfect. They had a fully-fledged song now, and they played through it fully a few times to get the hang of the whole thing. After doing so, they added a bass part with some drum beats, which they would get George and Ringo to help out on at the actual performance, since they couldn't do all those instruments themselves. The sun was slowly sinking further and further down the sky, and before they knew it - hours had gone by. It was surprising how quickly they could work together when making a song, when they could work together so very little in every other aspect of life._ _

__"Okay, let's go through it one more time?-" Paul read through the final draft of their lyrics one last time, fingers skimming across the page, before he settled into a position to begin playing again. John took up the same, excitement jolting through his veins as he did so. An actual song he wrote! He hated to admit it, but him and Paul worked really well in these things, both being on the same wavelength and having similar thoughts, feeling like they melded and became one when they played together. Their somewhat differing styles didn't clash, they worked harmoniously together and complimented each other, suiting the others' well and actually making the song better. They had lots in common in their song-making, but a lot of differences as well._ _

__"Oh yeah, I'll, tell you somethin' - I think you'll understand," They begun singing. They were struggling to keep their guitar-playing up with it, since they hadn't fully mastered the progressions yet and needed practice, but they could complete it without having to stop for the first time, just going with the flow when they made a mistake while playing._ _

__"And when I touch you, I feel happy inside," John couldn't help but let a grin play on his lips, excited at how good the song actually sounded; but more nervous at how their voices melded together, John's rougher, deeper voice complimenting Paul's higher notes so perfectly. "It's such a feelin' that my love, I can't hide! I can't hide-"_ _

__"I can't hide, I can't hide-" Paul's voice rose in octaves with each one, and John vehemently denied the shiver that trickled down his spine at hearing it._ _

__They continued the song until the very end; once they did so, they both shared a smile and an excited chuckle for the first time since meeting each other. It was shocking for both of them, since they had never smiled at each other like that or really done anything _friend-like_ \- to quickly amend it, both of them shuffled a few inches further away from each other, gazes determinedly fixed on the ground below. _Goddamnit!_ John thought angrily. _I'm NOT supposed to like him!__ _

__"I'm gonna go. At our lesson tomorrow, lets practice it with both George and Ringo." Paul closed up his book and put both that and his pen in his pocket before strapping his guitar to his back._ _

__"Um- okay." John agreed, feeling his cheeks burning hot as he watched him get to his feet._ _

__Nothing was said for several seconds, the tension palpable as Paul continued to stand there in front of him, gaze fixed on the ground. John felt as if he should say something, but he had no idea what. Eventually, the silence just continued as the younger boy turned around and began to walk away._ _

__John watched him go, so many emotions churning in his stomach that he felt a little queasy; he stood up and leant against the tree for a moment, trying to shake away the feeling of his throat closing up, anger and confusion mixing together dangerously inside of him. When he knew that he wouldn't encounter Paul again when he left himself, he began to make his way away from their previous practice spot, down the gravel pathways and out the front gates._ _

__When he made it home, closing the door after him with a despondent sigh, he heard Mimi talking on the phone a few metres away._ _

__"For John? Right. He's not-" she fell short when she spotted her nephew in the front hall, looking dishevelled and troubled. "Oh, here he is. John, Cynthia's on the phone for you." She held it out for him to take._ _

__"Thanks," He mumbled as he took it from her, pressing it to his ear. He tried to gather as much positivity as he could when he spoke to his girlfriend; "Hey, Cyn, love."_ _

__"Hey! Are you okay from what happened at the party?" Her distressed voice filled his ear, and he sighed again. "Sorry I called so late, my father found out I was at a party instead of at a friend's studying and he's grounded me."_ _

__"I'm okay, Cyn, really. Healin'." He reassured, leaning against the wall. "Sorry that yer da' grounded you."_ _

__"Oh, I was so worried!" She sounded relieved. "And it's okay. It's only for a week. I might be able to sneak out at some point to see you," she sounded more excited at that prospect._ _

__"That'd be great." He lied with a grimace._ _

__"I've got to go help prepare dinner now - I'll talk to you later, yeah? I just had to make sure you weren't dead or something." She giggled._ _

__"Yeah, no worries. Bye, love," Cynthia said her own goodbyes, and he hung up. He felt so tired, and still irritated from his lingering hangover, that all he could do was trudge up to his room and flop onto his bed._ _

___Tomorrow's school,_ he thought with a groan. _Oh well, let's just get this all over with. Then I don't have to hang out with Paul ever again.__ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI ahh this is unrelated but to anyone who reads this --  
> what do you guys think of a starrison/mclennon motorcycle gang au??? i got inspired by the song sunburn by the living tombstone and im gonna make a fic based off of it ((: if u see this lmk ur thoughts plsss im so excited


	9. 9 ;; questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI OMG SO SORRY FOR LIKE JBFKVFDKDJK the longest wait my mental health has been worse than always n ive done nothing but watch yt and lie in bed lol BUT finally i could write something so like yaa enjoy hvhghghg sorry again for a longass wait i hope i havent lost half of yal

"Shit, what I would give to ditch today.."   
Ringo dug his fingertips rigorously into his bluebell eyes, shivering at the bitter air that seeped into their skin like some kind of disease. Above, the sky was a smoky grey, stretching across the sky for miles and miles with no end in sight; the two boys kicked up browning leaves littering the ground as they trudged along to school. John stared blankly at the familiar route they always took to school, dreading the very moment he would step into its vicinity and lock eyes with.. him.   
Paul.

Since they had the practice session at Strawberry Fields, he hadn't seen the raven-haired boy. That was only yesterday, of course, so he wasn't bothered, but from everything that had happened at the party and how half of that night was shrouded in a drunken haze unnerved him. He felt like more had happened that night than just Paul taking him home and being beaten to a pulp by Kevin. Why hadn't he just gone home after he dropped him off? Maybe he was just too drunk off his arse to make it and just crashed on the bed. That is a pretty easy solution to it. And John hadn't had a shirt on because there was vomit on it and he had to have taken it off. So maybe nothing really happened at all.

But it still was unsettling to him... why the hell did Paul take him home in the first place? He didn't expect something like that from him. He came off as the type of guy to be a bystander. In fact, he would have expected him to have been pleased that John was being beaten up. Fuck, I'm dwelling all over it again. Snap out of it, John! He just took you home and crashed there, and that was it. He's gone now, and nothing like that will happen again.

"Me too. But we really gotta finish this damn project." He finally remembered that he was supposed to reply when someone talks, lifting his head from staring pensively at the ground to look at his friend. "Once we're done, I don't have to see Paul's stupid face ever again."' He was looking forward to that day.

"Stupid face?" Ringo whipped his head around to look at him incredulously, seemingly confused. Why was he confused? He always hated Paul. "Thought you guys were friends now, 'cause of the party. Or..?"

"What? No way. He's as much of a tosser as ever. No, we were never friends. Not even acquaintances." The words fell out a bit quicker than he expected, but he just trained his gaze on the ground again to avoid seeing Ringo's reaction. He truly believed his words.

"Well, you'll still be seein' him around the school."

"Yeah, but at least I won't have ta talk to him anymore. We'll probably say a total of two sentences for the rest of the year and then I'll be out of here." He idly kicked up a pile of dry leaves, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I'm tired of tryin' to make peace with him."

"You made friends with George, though. Why's Paul any different?" Ringo furrowed his brows.   
He probably knew there was something more to the whole ordeal that was going on between the two, but of course that wasn't true anyway! There wasn't anything going on between them. Just a mutual strong dislike. Nothing more.

"George is an actually nice person. That's the difference." He glared Ringo down, conveying that he didn't want to talk about the doe-eyed boy any longer. I just want a day where I don't fucking think about him or someone mentions him!

"Okay." Thankfully, Ringo was kind and understood his desire, relenting on the talk of Paul. "Let's bet - what grade do you think you'll get on this project?"

"Ohh, shit!" John grinned, tapping a finger against his chin while pretending to think it over. "Let's see.."

"I think, 'cause I got George and he's a god at guitar playin' - a solid A. Mayyy-be an A minus, B worse case scenario."

"I think yer right on that." The younger hummed. "For me, an A or B too. We made a pretty good song, actually. I quite like it."

"Really?? Didn't expect that, 'cause you don't get on very well. I wouldn't be able to make a good song with someone I couldn't get along with." The corners of Ringo's lips curled up in a somewhat bemused smile.

"We work pretty well with songwritin', if I'm honest." He shrugged.

"Aye, yeah! Both of you are good at it." Ringo nodded.

John was about to reply, but fell short when he spotted a group of familiar people outside the front gates. They looked at ease and cool, leaning up against the fence and puffing away at their cigarettes, uniform unkempt and loose. He considered them for a moment, wondering whether or not to go and talk to them, but when he spotted Kevin amongst the group of people, he stayed put in his spot, unease settling in his stomach. He had always been so eager to hang out with them, and them with him.. it seemed that ever since the party, things were going to change.

"Hey John! Ringo!" One of them broke away from the rest and hurried over to greet the two boys, looking friendly. Stuart, of course. He was a good guy, John knew that. Just a bit blind to the true nature of some of those boys in the group.

"Hi," Ringo nodded at him, smiling kindly. John opted not to speak, just flashing one of those tight-lipped smiles that you always do when you're uncomfortable but you feel the need to smile at them anyway. It seemed Stuart was just as uneasy as he was, turning to look back at their friends (they had straightened up and were eyeing Ringo and John warily) before smiling sadly at John.

"Ready for the final project tomorrow?" He was doing his best to make conversation with them, and it comforted the auburn-haired boy - but the fact that Kevin looked like he wanted to rip out John's entrails and watch him bleed out was making it hard to stand there in their vicinity.

"Uh- yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck with a wince. Was no one in the group willing to talk to them now? No one except Stuart had made a move to greet them, taking to staring at them from a distance. Pete nodded in their direction as a greeting, but that was it. The rest of them quickly turned away and hushed whispers began to bounce about them, still stealing glances in Ringo, John and Stuart's direction.

"Look, I know this is awkward-" Stuart cut himself off, sighing. "but they want me to ask you, John. What was the whole ordeal with Kevin? Why'd you get so mad at him?"

He stayed silent, mulling words over in his head as he tried to think of something to say. Because he's a fucking prick. No, I can't do that... what the hell can I say to make it up? I don't want to be friends with Kevin, but I don't want to get on the bad side of the group. That's a bad place to be.  
He realised Stuart was speaking again;  
"He's been.. sayin' stuff about you and some of the guys believe what he's sayin'. I don't, I know it's all bullshit, but.. what really happened?"

"Wait - sayin' stuff? What kinda stuff?" John's eyes widened. A lot of people had seen Paul take him home, and he wasn't exactly the most popular person. And everyone thought he was a poof.. he was always wary of rumours starting up about that particular stuff. He didn't give a toss about anything else being made up about him, but because things like being queer hit a little too close to home for him, he dreaded those rumours or being called that. Because it was true.

"Oh, no, no. Nothin' about that." Stu knew what he meant, seeing the look in his eyes; the auburn-haired boy just managed to stop himself from exhaling in relief. "But just sayin' that yer a coward and like.. an arsehole. He also said he 'felt bad'-" Stuart made air quotes with his fingers, "that Paul 'latched onto you' because he saved you from bein' beat up and took you home."

"What?" He felt utterly perplexed. Paul latching onto him? It was kind of the opposite of that. "No, that isn't true, anyway. Look, I'll just say this - I was drunk off my fuckin' arse and I can't even remember why I was angry at him. Okay?" John slipped in his hands in his pockets again, signalling for Ringo to follow him with a jerk of his head. "That's it. See you later, Stu." With that, he slipped past his friend and made his way into the building in front of them.

It was scary to think that him and Ringo were possibly beginning to drift apart from that group; they were the first friends they ever made when they first came to the academy, and he used to feel like he was pretty close with them all. He was popular, he didn't have to deal with the bullying that Paul or George did, and he preferred it that way. He didn't want to give it up, at least until he graduated at the end of the year. What would he be giving it up for anyway? Paul? No way. He wasn't friends with him, nor would he ever be. George, yes. But he would be able to juggle that stuff, and make sure the guys lay off of them a bit. He knew George and Paul were tight knit friends and he'd aid Paul if it made George happy.

Speaking of the latter, he spotted the bushy-browed boy on the other side of the hallway as they made their way to their lockers, fiddling with his own and looking disgruntled. Looking further down the hallway, he saw Paul at his own locker, looking peaceful and distant. He noticed those words that had been scribbled on the door had been half-scrubbed off, but parts still remained there like a grim reminder of the shitty people in the world.

George had seemingly spotted him and Ringo, however, as his eyes lit up and he squeezed through the wave of students to reach them, glaring daggers at anyone who touched him (something that John could relate to).

"Oi! John, Rings! What's up?"

"George!" Ringo turned around at the voice, basically oozing with delight as the two shared a (not so) brief hug, the older ruffling his hair with a grin, making George giggle and push him away, glaring playfully. "How are ya? Ready to practice today?"

"Shit, if I'm honest." George frowned, brushing his fingertips against his temple for a moment. "Never been that drunk before. But! I'm prepared for the practice. I'm determined we get a decent grade for it."

"Don't worry. With you playin', we'll pass with flyin' colours." The older rested a hand on his shoulder, smiling warmly down at him.

"Thanks, Rings." George grinned shyly up at him, the two lapsing into silence. John glanced between the two with furrowed brows before slowly beginning to smirk, understanding the reasoning for it.

"Ahem?" He coughed deliberately, watching them jump and return to reality with wide eyes, looking like they were just caught cheating or something. It was hilarious to John; but he had something more pressing in mind at that moment.

"Oh, sorry, John." Ringo's cheeks went beet red.

"Yeah, yeah. George, can I talk to you alone for a mo'?" John waved him off, tugging on the hollow-cheeked boy's shirt sleeve to pull him aside. He looked up at the older with confusion sparking in his gaze.

"Yeah? What is it?"

"I have a.. question." John suddenly grew nervous, the words he had prepared dying on his tongue immediately and he pressed his index fingertips together, trying to figure out a way to go about it. It was so stupid that he was doing this in the first place, but he just needed to try. Now that he was actually friends with George, it would be much easier to get a straighter answer out of him, rather than just speculating. "About Paul."

"What about him?" George turned around to look behind him. His gaze trained on where Paul's head was buried in his notebook, flipping through the pages as he stood in front of his open locker. "Can we hurry a bit? We'll be late for class."

"Yeah, sorry-" John coughed, mustering up as much courage as he could. Just do it, John, for god's sake! It's not rocket science. "I just need to know. Why does Paul detest me so much? I tried to reconcile with him like five times and it never worked. Is it 'cause of me purely, or somethin' else?"

George was silent for several long seconds. His expression grew sombre and serious, and he rubbed on his bottom lip with his sharp teeth for a moment before opening his mouth. "Look, John, I do know why he does it. But it... it's really complicated. He's never disliked someone this much and it be totally unfounded. You'd have to ask him yerself. He's still me best friend, y'know - I'm not gonna spew his secrets to someone who he doesn't like." He looked genuinely sad to say so. "No offence to you."

"No no, none taken." John shook his head. Of course George wouldn't say anything, he was Paul's best friend and infinitely more loyal to him. He didn't know why he thought it would work at all, actually. "It's hard to ask him why, though, cause he gets even angrier if I do."

"Yeah, he does that." The younger winced slightly, pressing his lips together. "I'm sorry, though. He doesn't want people knowin', so I can't tell you. You'd have to find out from him."  
With that, George left him and made his way through the crowd to their first lesson - John watched him go in defeat. That was it, the last-ditch attempt he made at trying to reconcile their rocky relationship; and it didn't work, obviously. He decided to just leave it at that. Nothing more would be done.

-

"Hey, George! Ringo! Can you two help out on this bit, please?" John heard the doe-eyed boy's words from where he sat on his desk, feet resting on his chair as he fiddled with his guitar strings, making sure the strings were all perfectly in tune. Plucking each individual chord, he was satisfied when they all sounded good. As much as he disliked Paul, he was glad he had taught him the proper chords to a guitar. It made him feel a little stupid, though, that he attended a music academy and he couldn't even play proper guitar chords.

"Oh- sure." That was Ringo's reply, and he heard footsteps coming back towards him; he lifted his head to shoot a smile at his two friends.

"I'm excited to hear the song you guys came up with!" George grinned, coming up to John with an excited twinkle in his eye. Paul hung back from the three, looking hesitant, but the auburn-haired boy just stood up and smiled at his two friends.

"It's pretty good, if I do say so meself." John struck a dramatic pose, making them both chuckle.

"Don't get all cocky on us now, John!" Ringo shoved him lightly.

"When am I not cocky, Ringo?" He rolled his eyes, grinning widely.

"You got me there,"

"I'm gonna ask Mr. Martin if there are any basses." The almond-eyed boy shot one last look at Paul - who leant down to pick up his guitar case off the floor - before making his way to the teacher at the front of the classroom. "Mr Martin!"

"Yes, John?" The teacher turned to look at him, shuffling through some papers.

"Where are the basses?"

"In music room AB down the hall. It's empty right now, so you can work there for this lesson." 

"Okay, thanks," He nodded, flashing a smile before going back to the other three. "come on. Off to room AB." He jerked his head in the direction of the door and gathered up his stuff. George, Ringo and Paul trailed behind him as they left the classroom and trekked down the hallway to the nearby music room. 

"Have you got bits for me to do?" George bounced up to John excitedly, flashing a grin his way; John found his eagerness cute. 

"Yeah, you can do the lead guitar bit." He bumped his shoulder against his friends, smiling softly. "From what I've seen, yer an aspirin' Chuck Berry." 

"Well, I wouldn't say that." George's cheeks flushed and he ducked his head shyly, but he looked pleased by the praise. 

"Don't dumb yerself down, Geo." Paul came up between the two, moving a few inches away from John with a brief annoyed glance his way before smiling down at his best friend. "Yer the best guitarist I know."

John slowed his footsteps down as the two fell into conversation, walking a few metres behind them and rubbing his neck awkwardly. He could see that Paul was annoyed that him and George were becoming friends with each other; it was as clear as his hostility towards him. I mean, I'd be pretty annoyed too if Ringo started making friends with Paul when he knew we didn't like each other. But he doesn't have any rights to control George's friendships! If he wants to be friends with me, he should be allowed to.

The four boys finally reached the music room - pushing open the door, they bundled into the compact room and set down their stuff on the carpeted floor. The room was small and had padding on the walls to mute the echoing, and a well-used drum set was set up in the corner, a few electric guitars and two basses stacked up next to it. On the other end of the room was a piano and some acoustic guitars were propped up against it; a few amps were stacked up against the wall as well as some microphones. It was perfect. Of course, music academies had everything they ever needed.

"Yes!" George immediately went towards the electric guitars, fawning over them like they were crowned jewels (John considered that they were crowned jewels, anyway). Paul followed him and started to set up their stuff, ready to practise - Ringo made his way to the drum set and started to look it over, adjusting the cymbals and hi-hat that had been adjusted improperly. 

The auburn-haired boy watched them all and bit nervously at his nails. What if he was shit when he played with them and they were all great? He really wanted to prove his worth. They all looked like they knew exactly what they were doing, especially Paul - he felt completely nervous now and at a loss. It was always kind of terrifying to him to play in front of people.

"John,"   
He looked up in shock at the voice. Ringo put a hand on his shoulder and smiled at him, raising one brow, azure eyes sparkling with amusement. "Don't worry - you'll be fine. Yer just as good as us."

John sighed, unable to hold back his relieved smile. "How do you always know what I'm thinkin'?" 

"I've known you for years, John. I think I know how you work now," Ringo laughed, flashing him one last encouraging smile before going back to sit at the drum set. At least Ringo was there for him. As he kneeled down to open up his guitar case, he felt a pair of eyes staring at him intently; when his gaze flickered up to meet them, he saw Paul quickly turn his back on him, scribbling down something in his notebook absentmindedly, looking a little tense. Why had he been watching him like that? John's brows furrowed in confusion and slight unease. 

"Who wants to take up the bass?" George spoke up from where he sat on one of the amps, fiddling to plug in one of the electric guitars that he had propped up in his lap.

Silence fell upon them all - the four exchanged glances between each other, looking awkward. No way will I do that! John thought to himself. I could barely play the guitar, as if I'll be able to do the bass too.

"Hey, why don't you do it, John? Great." Paul glanced at him for a moment before turning back to the lyrics, shuffling through the pages, pointedly not looking at his class partner.

"What? No way. I can't do bass. I dunno how to play it," John protested, crossing his arms in frustration. Paul hadn't even given him time to answer before he said "great"! 

"Well, who has any experience with it?" Ringo piped up. 

"Certainly not me," John chuckled, shaking his head a little. He wasn't going to be relegated to bass. No way in hell! 

"Not me either. John said I'd do lead guitar anyway," George shrugged nonchalantly, tapping his foot against the carpet as he positioned his fingers on the electric guitar; he plucked a string and it tore loudly through the room, making everyone jump back in fright, George quickly turning down the volume on the amp with a hushed "sorry!".

"That leaves Paul." Ringo bit on his lip anxiously, turning to the doe-eyed boy. "Do you know anythin' about bass?"

"Ugh, seriously?" Paul glared at them all, standing tall with his nose in the air, crossing his arms defiantly. He obviously didn't want to do it either. But when John, George and Ringo continued to stay silent, he relented and his shoulders slumped, the boy letting out a defeated sigh. "Yeah, I've toyed with it a little bit in the past, but I'm not that good yet."

"Better than us, if you've played it before." The youngest of the group pointed out.

"Yer right," Paul curled his lip ever so slightly, obviously very displeased about being the bassist, but he just made his way over to where the basses were situated, picking one off its stand and inspecting it. 

John slung his guitar strap over his shoulder, grabbing the lyric and chord papers and setting them up so George and Ringo could see them clearly. John and Paul didn't have to worry about memorising that stuff, since they had mostly got it pretty down pat, but George and Ringo had to learn their parts for the actual performance tomorrow. Mr Martin had told them they were performing at the assembly, which was kind of terrifying to John - but he knew it wouldn't be the worst thing ever because he had Ringo and George with him, and they were both very talented. Yeah, maybe Paul too, but he tried not to acknowledge that.

"These are the lyrics and chords.. let's not worry about learnin' the lyrics just yet. Let's just go through the chords until you guys have learned it." Paul spoke up, pointing to the papers before lifting up the bass strap and pulling it over his head.

The pair smiled excitedly. "Sounds good!"

And with that, the four of them got to work; it was quite slow at first, mainly just George getting the hang of the main chords and Ringo getting down a proper beat to go with it, Paul and John hurrying them along as they saw the time ticking by. Eventually, nearing the last 20 minutes of the session, they spent the rest of the time practising the full song, lyrics and all - and their two friends caught on much faster than he expected.   
In fact, what John expected least of all, was that they all sounded really good together. When the four of them harmonised all together, it created this haunting tone that sounded really satisfying.   
The four of them worked so well together, and Paul was actually a good bassist as well - of fucking course. He could never be bad at anything, could he? John felt jealous that he picked up on things so well and knew how to play so many instruments. It made him feel stupid and inferior. But he wouldn't let Paul get to him anymore than he already had, so he shoved all those nagging insecurities and the jealousy that always got him into deep shit into the very corners of his unruly mind.   
Eventually, Mr Martin came in the room to tell them that the lesson was over - they packed up their things and left, Ringo and George chattering excitedly about the session while Paul walked ahead, obviously not wanting to talk to anyone; John stayed at the back of the group, saying a goodbye to their teacher as they walked out. 

"Wasn't that just gear, John?" George came up to him, looking like he just discovered the true purpose of humanity. "Yer song is so good! It was really fun to have a session with the four of us."

"It was pretty good." He agreed. "Hopefully we get a pass on this thing, I'm barely scrapin' through with every other subject already." John chuckled to himself.

"It's 'cause yer always ditchin'!" Ringo rolled his eyes, coming up to walk on the other side of John. The hallway was beginning to swarm with students as the classes ended and recess begun; the almond-eyed boy had to weave his way through them so as not to get knocked about.

"You do too! Yer just as bad as me, so you can't talk." John shot back with a devilish grin.

"Yeah, but I still get good grades anyway!" Ringo jokingly puffed out his chest.

"You call C average good grades?" John quipped, poking his cheek with a snicker when Ringo shoved him away, making it turn into a playful fight, whacking each other in every place they could possibly reach. The younger quickly grabbed his hands and twisted his wrists the wrong way until Ringo screeched "mercy!", making him let go and dissolve into laughter.

"Works like a charm, baby!" 

"Shut up! It's not fair! You always use that," Ringo grumped, crossing his arms with an annoyed pout.

"You make it too easy!" They came up to their lockers, John beginning to work on his lock to open his up. As he was doing so, he suddenly got an idea; why not ditch? There wasn't anything important on for the rest of the day, and he was honestly tired of school already that day. His stomach grumbled for food, and he felt he was craving chips. "Hey, Rings, speakin' of ditchin'.."

"Wha'? You wanna ditch?" Ringo turned to him with furrowed brows.

"Yeah! Let's go down to the chippy. I'm starvin', and there's nothin' important on for the rest of the day today anyway." John grinned widely before sticking out his bottom lip, pleading to Ringo. "Please? I promise I'll pay for yours."

"Mm..." Ringo pretended to mull it over in his head, mockingly tapping a finger against his chin before a grin crept across his face. "deal. I'll go ask George-" He started to squeeze through the crowd of kids to get to where George was, at his locker.

"Wait, what?" John grabbed his arm before he could leave. "Invite George? He might try to get Paul to come." He wanted George to come, honestly, but he knew he'd start getting shit from Paul if they kept making him ditch his best friend to hang out with the popular kids. "I don't want the kid to start gettin' all riled up if we kept takin' George away from him."

"Why do you want Paul not to come so bad?" Ringo rolled his eyes impatiently. "He's not that bloody bad. And I'm sure he doesn't want to hang with you, either. So maybe he just won't come and George will." 

"But-" John started, but Ringo shrugged him off and raced over to the lanky boy. John couldn't hear what they were saying from where he was, but he saw Ringo talk to George and the boy practically lit up, obviously excited at the thought of ditching with the popular kids. John hurried over to join them, not wanting to stand by himself. 

"Ready to go, Georgie?" He asked as he came up to stand next to Ringo.

"Yeah! Just give me a mo'-" The boy nodded at him before dashing off to Paul's locker. Great, John groaned silently. I swear to god, if Paul decides to come with us, I'll be really pissed. Lifting his head, he listened to what George was saying from the distance.  
"Oi Paulie! Me, Ringo, and John are gonna ditch and go down to the chippy. Wanna come with?"

"What?" Was Paul's incredulous reply. "George, we can't ditch! Especially with those guys! What if we get caught? I can't go to detention!"

"Paul! Come on!" George sounded a little exasperated. "This is our chance ta get in with the popular kids! John an' Ringo are cool guys, they're not like those other pricks. They could get them to lay off of us! Don't ye want tha'?" There was silence, and he saw Paul look over to Ringo and John; they quickly turned away to make it look like they weren't listening in. "We should have a little fun!" George spoke up again. "Come on. I know how you feel about John, but.. let's just have some fun and not worry about anythin' else. We won't get caught or anythin', I promise."

"Ugh.." Paul groaned, pressing his fingers against his temple harshly before seemingly giving in. "Fine, but I'm coming back for the last two periods. I don't care if you guys don't." Footsteps sounded against the smooth floor, coming closer to them - John turned around and faced Paul as nonchalantly as possible, trying to look like he hadn't been listening in on their conversation.

"Ready to go?" He pushed off the lockers and began to walk off.

"Whatever," he heard Paul scoff from behind him; Ringo and George hurried to catch up to the auburn-haired boy, and the doe-eyed boy trailed behind them, looking terribly nervous. "Uh- Ringo?"

"Yeah?" The oldest of the group slowed to match his pace with him. 

"I've never ditched school before.. what do we do?" He sounded like he was actually in pain at asking that question, but seemed desperate to know the answer. John kept walking alongside George, trying not to alert Paul that he was listening.

"It's not that hard. You kind of just walk with other kids to make it look like yer just hangin' in the front yard before you sneak up over the fence when there's no teachers then get out of sight." Ringo explained. "It's pretty fun."

"Oh.. yeah." Paul nodded, and the two fell silent. The four of them had reached the front yard now, and John and Ringo said hello to a few kids that recognised them before scanning the area for teachers; when they saw none, they hurried up to the tall fence to climb up it. John went first, scaling the black bars with ease and jumping down the other side - George went next, stumbling a little when he landed on the sidewalk, then Ringo, and finally, a reluctant Paul. Once they were all over, they bolted from the scene to get out of sight from the building, in case any teachers came out. 

"Wow! That was so easy!" George exclaimed. "So much easier than I thought. I thought they'd be watchin' the fences to make sure kids don't sneak away."

"Oh, no - we're too cunnin' for those old hags!" John snickered as they sprinted away. After they were sure they were out of sight, they slowed down to a walk as they reached a main street, shops stretching out on either side. There weren't many people walking about, since it was a work day, which was something John preferred. 

"You got money, George?" Paul spoke up, looking at his best friend.

"Oh, I think so. Not much, but enough." George dug through his pockets and pulled out some pounds.

Once they reached the end of the street, they found the ever-popular chip shop - kids always went there after school, John and Ringo being no exception. The scent of fatty oil and frying chips flooded John's senses, and he licked his lips in anticipation, stomach growling hungrily.

"God, I'm so hungry." 

"Me too!" George's eyes gleamed, and he rubbed his hands together excitedly as they pushed their way through the front door into the shop.

"When are you not?" Paul rolled his eyes.

"Let's order." Ringo turned to the others. He went first, coming up to the counter and ordering his food and drink - John went next, then Paul, then George. John paid for Ringo's along with his own as he promised, though. Once they got their chips and their drinks, they left the cafe and strolled leisurely down the street. The almond-eyed boy sipped at his coke and dug his finger into his paper bag filled with greasy chips; he bit into it way too quickly, though, and he spluttered and spat out the half-bitten chip, having burnt his tongue.

"John, you pillock! Haven't you learnt yer lesson?" George giggled, smacking him on the back. Paul watched on silently, expression unreadable, Ringo laughing to himself as well.

"I got all excited!" John groaned, desperately sipping at his drink to try and soothe the pain of the burn.

"Hey! Why don't we all go down to the park, eh?" Ringo gestured in the vague direction of the park that was situated around the block. "Just sit in the shade for a bit."

"Gear! I'll race ya, Ringo!" George grinned mischievously at his friend; Ringo raised a brow and quickly handed his food over to John for him to hold, making him glare playfully in his direction.

"Is that a challenge?"

"Yeah. Ready? Three, two, one-" They bolted away, zooming past the passersby and away from John and Paul.

"And they're off!" John called, laughing as he saw them shoving each other to get ahead before disappearing around the corner. He was actually a little annoyed that the two had left him with Paul so quickly, and he wished he had run off to join them - but he couldn't when he was carrying Ringo's food and his milkshake along with his own, so now he was stuck walking alongside the one boy he disliked. He actually expected Paul to join in on the race, but it seemed he was very interested in the gutter.

"Seems like they're becomin' fast friends, huh?" He turned to Paul, opting to try and make conversation instead of just walking in the terribly uncomfortable silence that was just way too tense for his own liking.

"Yep." Paul didn't turn to look at him.

"George is a good kid, ya know. Very funny guy."

"Yeah." 

John huffed in annoyance. Paul wasn't even trying! "Are you always a brick wall to talk to?"

"Are you always so fucking persistent to talk to someone when they clearly don't like you?" Paul whipped his head around to stare at him, a challenge alight in his eyes and eyebrows knotted in increasing anger. 

"Yeah, duh, I know you don't like me. I'm not exactly so crazy about you either." John took a sip of his drink. "But I'm just tryin' to make conversation instead of walkin' in awkward silence. No need to rip me head off."

"I'd prefer the rippin' yer head off to the actual conversation, if I'm honest." Paul sniffed, biting tentatively into his chip as they walked; they rounded the corner at the end of the street and the park came into view, where George and Ringo were waiting at the front for them. 

"Wow, Paulie! So rude. Me feelings are so hurt!" John drew back in mock shock, making a pouty face, causing Paul to glare at him, clearly unimpressed.

"Good."

"Took you two long enough! Havin' a fun chat?" George called as they crossed the street and came up to them. His smiled faltered when he saw John looking disgruntled and exasperated, and Paul seething silently.

"Just jolly!" John made a stupid face, making George and Ringo giggle (he swore he saw the corners of Paul's lips twitch up for a moment) before they all trekked deeper into the park.

"Wee!" George skipped along in the field of grass under the trees, a chip falling to the ground as he went. He was so much like a little kid sometimes, John noticed; but he guessed that was because he was a little kid. More than the rest of them, anyways - he seemed to care less about being cool when he was around people he was comfortable with. It made John happy. 

"Yer droppin' yer food everywhere, git!" Ringo joked, picking up the chip as he caught up to his friend.

"Oops," George grinned sheepishly.

Eventually they settled in a grassy clearing by a stream that chuckled over smooth pebbles, a tall, overarching oak tree stretching its many branches over them for shade (not like it was very warm out that day anyway). Ringo settled himself up against the trunk, George taking his spot beside him. Paul sat opposite George while John collapsed dramatically onto the grass, staring up at the sky above him as he laid on his back, munching on his chips that were cool enough now that he wouldn't burn his tongue on them.

"Want to try me milkshake?" Ringo offered quietly to George, the boy taking it from his hands with a shy smile his way before taking a long sip from the straw.

"Blueberry. Yum." 

John felt perfectly content then, letting his eyes fall shut as he listened to the quiet murmurs of his friends and the sound of the stream bubbling over the rocks next to them. He was close enough to reach it, so he laid out an arm and let his hand fall into the flowing water, enjoying the icy tang on his fingertips while he sipped at his coke. He felt his worries melt away for a few minutes, nothing to bother him while he ate his food up and enjoyed the autumn breeze and the blades of grass against his skin.

He still felt hungry after finishing his chips, so he slowly sat up and dried his hand on the grass next to him, crawling up to where George, Ringo and Paul were. George's head was resting on Ringo's shoulder now, and the azure-eyed boy was ranting about some story; Paul was sitting off to the side, staring into the last of his strawberry milkshake as he stirred it with his straw mindlessly, looking lost in thought. 

"Ringo? You still got any chips left?" John spoke up, smiling at Ringo sheepishly as he laid on his side, propping his head up against his hand.

"Nah, mate. George ate the last of mine." Ringo snickered.

"I don't think you need any more, John." Paul spoke up. He was facing them now, and he was staring intently at John with a snarky smirk before looking at him up and down. His eyes were bright with a challenge, and he obviously was looking to start something up. Was he saying he was fat or some shit? Why did he always have to go for his worst insecurities? If he wants a row, he'll bloody well get one.

"What exactly do you mean by that, McCartney?" John sat up, looking at him with an innocently confused face but feeling anger stirring in his abdomen. 

"Well, y'know." Paul shrugged nonchalantly, but his eyes bore into his with such intensity that John felt the sudden need to tug on his shirt collar to relieve the sudden pressure on his throat. 

"Don't 'y'know' me. You tryin' to say I'm fat or somethin'?" The rage was boiling higher and higher in his chest, and he felt the sudden urge to really start a fight.

"I'm just sayin'-" Paul started, but Ringo quickly interrupted, glaring at them both angrily. Always the pacifist of the group, John knew.

"Fuckin' hell! Can't we just have a nice moment? Why do you guys hate each other so much?"

Paul scoffed again, glaring down at John and curling his lip in a sneer. John glared right back at him. It wasn't his fault that Paul was always looking to stir things up between them. If he could, he wouldn't talk to him at all.

"I'm leavin'." Paul suddenly stood up, throwing his blazer over his shoulder and sipping at the last of his drink. He sent one last look John's way before turning tail and beginning to walk away. John tried not to let his eyes follow the slight swing of his hips.

"Wait! Don't go-" George leapt up, hurrying after him, looking upset. This seemed to have gotten Paul to stop in his tracks, though, and when the younger caught up to him they spoke in hushed voices; they were too far away to make out what they were saying. Paul seemed to reply with harsh words before storming away, much quicker this time around. George groaned and rubbed his eyes, turning back to Ringo and John.

"I'm sorry, guys. I'll see you later," He grimaced apologetically at them before dashing away to catch up with his best friend, leaving Ringo and John alone.

"Fuck's sake, John! Why do you always have to start shit like this?" His friend rounded on him, throwing his hands up in frustration and glaring at him. "We were havin' a good time."

"Me?" John pointed to himself in shock. "It was him who started it! He was sayin' that I'm..." he couldn't say the word, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach and twiddling his thumbs. Why did Paul have to make fun of the things that he hated most about himself? He always secretly felt he was a fat, ugly bastard, and of course that prick had to make fun of it. It hurt more than he'd ever admit. It hurt more, in fact, that it came from Paul.

"I know, John." Ringo sighed, wrapping an arm around his shoulder before they starting making their way out of the park. "I know. And yer not, alright?" He suddenly stopped, standing in front of him and staring him down sternly, hands on his shoulders. "Yer not fat. Trust me."

He couldn't believe his words, he never really did when Ringo supported him like that. But it always made him feel better when he knew he could always rely on his best friend to help him. "Thanks, Ringo."

"'s okay. Let's just go back to school, yeah? We can go down to the docks after school. How 'bout it?" His friend smiled and nudged his shoulder, shoving his hands in his pockets as they began to walk away from the park.

"Sounds good." John smiled at him warmly. He didn't care what Paul thought. It didn't matter; Paul was just another kid at school, nothing more.


	10. 10 ;; assembly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning - gay slurs

"Okay, okay, guys - have we got everythin' down? Everythin' prepared? Know all the lyrics and chords?"  
Paul paced anxiously, looking frightened for the first time in his entire life. John has never seen him so nervous about anything ever, and it was unsettling as all hell to witness.

"Yes, for the thousandth time, Paul!" George cried, throwing his hands up in annoyance, glaring up at his best friend from his spot on the floor. "The answer still remains the same after five minutes ago."

John's shoulder slumped, and he took another quick, discreet drag of his secret cigarette before flicking it to the ground and smothering it with the heel of his shoe. The four of them were lying in wait backstage outside the curtains that led to the assembly room stage, guitars strapped firmly to their torsos and nervous energy bouncing between them all, high strung and staring around with bright, excited eyes.  
Some of the other students in their class were hanging around like they were, with their various instruments ready for when they would have their moment of fame. Most of their year level had performed their songs now, and the numbers were dwindling until there was only six or so groups left.   
John heard them from his place of leaning against the wall beside the curtains and he had to say - some of the songs the kids came up with were pretty decent. Most of them came up with rock-n-roll types, while some others chose more classical routes. His nerves were crackling like lightning all over the place, all hairs on his arms standing on end like he had just been electrocuted by said lightning; his heart was thumping erratically in his chest akin to the times his skin would connect with Paul's, and his stomach was bubbling with anxiety mixed with excitement, creating this confusing concoction in his abdomen that made him feel queasy. People were going to hear the song they came up with! He was about to perform in front of other people!

 _It's not that big of a fuckin deal, John, jesus,_ he told himself, trying to calm his high-strung nerves. _you're just performing a song you finished in a week in front of your school, not the bloody Madison Square Garden._

"Yeah, can you just shut up for a moment, Paul?" John crossed his arms, his anxiety making him irritated - and the fact that Paul was freaking out as well was particularly exasperating. He wasn't running around the place screaming, at least, but his incessant questions and pacing and nervous fingernail-biting set his teeth on edge.

"I'm tryna make sure ye don't fuck this up for us, Lennon." Paul spat out his name like it was a mouldy piece of food, stepping up to stand in front of him, almost nose-to-nose, glaring him down intimidatingly. John tried not to stare at his lips. "I've worked bloody hard on this song, I need to make sure everythin's perfect. I can't start gettin' shit grades because of ya. "

John felt the familiar enragement building in his chest like a wall of bricks. He's worked hard? "I think you're forgettin' somethin', McCartney. I worked on it as well, y'know."

Paul clenched his teeth, rolling his eyes; he seemed to remember that they were standing quite close to each other, so he created an extra metre of space between them, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. Thank god, John almost uttered the words out loud. He was standing way too close for comfort. _Does he think he's intimidating by doing that? Well, he's wrong. He doesn't exactly look like the toughest guy. Instead like a sad eight-year-old that just dropped his ice cream._

"And who did most of the work?" He noticed the doe-eyes boy was speaking again.

"Wanna go down that road, huh?" John placed his hands on his hips, taking a step forward and gazing down at Paul with a snarky, amused smile. "Think because you had to teach me a few chords that yer the big man now?"

"No-" Paul started, looking actually a little confused.

"'Cause it ain't workin' on me! Always actin' as if yer superior. All 'high and mighty'-" John made exaggerated air quotes. "-well, who had to save you from a little confrontation with some guys pickin' on ya, huh?"

Paul was positively seething. It sent a bolt of satisfaction through his chest. Serves him right.

"You fucking p-"

"Stop it!" George shoved his way between them. John hadn't noticed that they had moved closer and closer as they talked and had been standing nose to nose, glaring challengingly into each other's eyes like the villain and the protagonist of movies do in the final confrontation, daring the other to make the first move.

"Can we go one fuckin' minute without you guys pickin' a fight? Who cares about who worked on what the most, let's just get this whole thing over with." He pierced their skin with an intense gaze before whipping around to resume his spot on the ground next to Ringo. The oldest of the group was drumming his sticks idly on the floor, obviously having tried his best to ignore the fight that had been brewing. 

John suddenly felt bad. George and Ringo had to put up with their constant bickering every time they were together; they should just shut up for their sakes.   
It seemed Paul had had the same thought, since the boy knelt down beside his friend and whispered some sort of apology to him; John walked past them and sat by Ringo.

"Sorry we keep fightin'," He winced, feeling a little stupid for apologising so out in the open like that. Apologies were the things he struggled with the most, coming to the terms with the fact that he did something stupid.. it was hard.

Ringo smiled small. "'s okay, John. Just.. keep it to a minimum, would ya? Let's get this performance done."

"Will do, sergeant Starkey." John mock-saluted, making his best friend snicker and roll his eyes. The four of them fell into a somewhat comfortable silence, still tense with nerves for their performance, but at least not yelling at each other. When the auburn-haired boy snuck a look in the younger's direction - he was staring at the floor, playing soft notes on the bass (having to hold it up to his ear to hear it, though, since it wasn't plugged in) and muttering to himself, obviously going through the chords again. From his experience of working with the kid, he was definitely a perfectionist. He always seemed to have this perfect envisionment of the song and how every exact second should go, calling all the shots and giving John doubtful looks when he suggested certain things.

They both had worked on the song pretty equally, but it seemed Paul doubted his intelligence or ability to write a good song from their time spent together. It was annoyingly frustrating that he tried to control all the aspects as if John couldn't make a decent contribution. That prick! He always thought he was better than him. It made him want to kick the boy's head in.

"Guys! We're about to go on."  
He lifted his head in surprise. Paul was peering around the edge of the curtain, and he turned to look at the three on the ground and gestured for them to get up. He looked passive, as usual, but John noticed the excited twinkle in his eye. It made his heart beat just a tiny bit faster.

"Oh god, I'm scared," George groaned, clutching tighter to his guitar like it was the last thing to exist in the world, moving to stand behind Ringo a little.

"Hey, you've got us. We can do it." The azure-eyed boy turned to his friend with a comforting smile. "Some people say you should pretend the entire audience is naked."

"Ew! That would just freak me out even more." George laughed.

"I dunno, it helps some people," Ringo shrugged with a grin.

"I bet you'd like to see a certain someone naked, eh, Ringsy?" John joked with a devilish grin, jabbing his fingers into Ringo's sides and making him cry out and shove him away with a deathly glare.

"Shut up!" He hissed through clenched teeth.

"Who do you wanna see naked?" George's bushy brows furrowed in an innocent confusion.

"N-nothing! No-one. Let's go," Ringo's cheeks went beet red, not looking at George and hurrying to get closer to the curtain, just as John planned. It was absolutely hilarious and he dissolved into snickers; he swore he saw Paul's lips quirk up again.

"Okay. Here we go. I see the group leavin'." Paul announced, the four of them clustering to peer through the gap with wide eyes. It was time. The previous group were packing up their things and were about to exit through the curtains they were looking through.

It seemed there was some unspoken agreement - they backed away to let the other kids pass them, Paul resting his hand on the material before his eyes locked with John. They shared a look; though they had fought and bickered and spat venom, they could put it all aside for a moment for the performance. Paul blinked at him once, staring at him with his haunting gaze, sucking him in with its enticing sparkle - before he turned away, breaking the trance and pulling aside the curtain for them to come in.

The assembly hall was pretty compact - wooden floors and stairs stacked up where children were sitting. The stage was made of a darker wood, and Mr Martin sat on a chair of his own in front of a desk, writing intensely on some papers; amps and a drum set was in place and microphones set up on their stands. He looked up to see the four boys beginning to make their way onto the stage.

"The next group-" the teacher gestured to them all. "is John Lennon and Paul McCartney, with George Harrison and Richard Starkey." The was a smattering of applause and John heard someone yell his name, making him do a stupid dance and strike a pose, causing a ripple of laughter through the crowd of kids.   
They began to plug their instruments into their respective amps, making a whining noise echo through the room as they tried to hush the feedback. Paul tested a few notes before they came up to the microphones, adjusting them accordingly to their height. Ringo settled himself behind the drum set.

"Hello, my dear children," John spoke into the mic with a snarky smile, waving at the crowd and making a few people giggle again. He was putting on a decent-enough act to mask his nerves, cracking his usual jokes and easing the tension. He was good at that. "We're John Lenny and the Earwigs-"   
George let out an immature snort, and more laughter echoed through the room; they were quickly silenced when Mr. Martin held up his hand, though a few whispers still started up again.

"That's enough of your cheek, Mr. Lennon." His teacher cut him off with a stern look. "Begin, please."

"'kay, so.." John slid his fingers across the guitar's fretboard and into place, psyching himself up as much as he could. You can do this. "This is called 'I Want to Hold Your Hand.'"

He turned to Paul.   
The doe-eyed boy began to count them in; "one, two, three.."   
They began to play.

The first few chords were strong and attention-grabbing; John's hands shook so much that he thought he would mess up the chords, and he tried his best to remember all they had learned, willing himself not to let it escape his mind and leave it blank.

"Oh yeah, I'll - tell you somethin', I think you'll understand!" Him and Paul begun to sing in harmony, feedback from the microphone piercing John's ears and making him shrink back and wince. Once he was quite sure it wouldn't electrocute him or something, he leaned back into the microphone and continued to sing along with his partner. Again, he noticed the way their voices mingled together so well, and George joined in as the back-up, which surprisingly sounded even better. It lifted his spirits. Despite their fights, they really did sound good together.

The four continued through the song, slipping up once or twice with the chords but managing to keep in time thanks to Ringo's sturdy drum beat - John saw that the students below watching them were grinning in an excited shock at their song, eyes wide with wonder and admiration.   
He turned to Paul as if to say "do you see this shit?!" and he found the boy was staring back at him too, eyes sparkling with excitement and he was almost smiling himself, as if he knew exactly what the auburn-haired boy was trying to convey. 

George flew into a ripping guitar solo as they neared the end, and he almost completely forgot to play as he practically gaped. Everyone else watching stared themselves, utterly astounded that such a puny little kid was flawlessly creating a guitar solo for all to see, concentrating hard as his fingers flew across the strings at a rapid rate. _Fuck, I knew the kid was good, but I didn't think he was THAT fucking amazing!_ Even their teacher was looking surprised and impressed.

And with that, the song came to an end. By the time they finished, John was puffing a bit and he still felt the adrenaline pumping through his veins, and he stared around at the group with wide eyes, as if to say "we actually did that," and also "what the fuck was that god-like guitar playing, George?" but the kid didn't seem to notice any of it, instead looking mildly pleased with himself and examining his fingers.   
The crowd erupted into cheers - the students gazed up at them with excitement and some whooped, one guy yelling "yeah John, Ringo!". He didn't know why they were so ecstatic. It was just a song! But maybe they were the only ones who actually tried with the task and came up with anything decent. It inflated his ego quite a bit to see people enjoy it so much. Maybe they really were good! 

"Thank you, settle down!" George Martin stood up and held out his hands to get everyone to be quiet. "That was very good, you four. Now, George and Richard's song?" He gestured to them to continue.

"This one's called Boys," George spoke up, the four of them preparing to play again; John tried to rack his brain and remember all the notes in the song, since they didn't have as much time to learn it before the deadline. I'll just have to do my best.   
The dark-eyed boy counted them in, and they began to play again. Ringo was the main singer for this one, while Paul, George and John supplied the 'shoo-wops', and John found he was actually a good singer. He had a deep voice and he was pretty good at singing rock-n-roll songs, too - the older boy always tried to downplay his ability, preferring to be silent and drum away instead of residing at the forefront. George was right, though. He was a good singer.   
Their performance went better than they had expected, and they finished up the song with shallow breaths and sweat beginning to break out on their foreheads. 

The applause was almost as raucous as the previous, and the four of them bowed jokingly. John held out an imaginary hat to collect money with a mockingly posh "thank you all for your time,", making a few kids laugh in the audience. 

"Thank you four." Mr Martin seemed very impressed, and his eyes sparkled a little with amusement. "Next group on, please!" He waved them off.

The four packed up their things and left - not without John and Ringo turning back to the crowd and striking a silly pose, yelling out "we've been the Righteous Brothers!" making the students laugh again. A steely look from their teacher sent them on their way.

"Woah!" Ringo exclaimed when they left the stage, putting down the school-lent instruments up against the wall before staring at each other with wide eyes. 

"That went fuckin' fantastic, guys!" George was practically bursting with excitement, and he threw his arms around Ringo's neck and pulled him into a hug. "It was so fun to perform with you guys!"

Ringo hugged him back with a wide grin, staring down at the younger with such a stupidly lovesick, affectionate look that it almost made John gag out loud. _Shit, Ringo's really in deep, isn't he? Why don't they just get married already?_  
The two of them seemed to have spotted John watching them, and they both sprung apart with embarrassed looks, acting as if they were just caught downing a vodka shot in front of their parents. John rolled his eyes with an amused snort.

"George! What was that, man? You were fuckin' amazin' out there!" John grinned at him, pulling the boy into a headlock and ruffling his hair, making George cry out in feeble protest and try to shove him away, looking terribly abashed but secretly pleased. 

"I thought it'd be fun to do a solo." He shrugged as the auburn-haired boy let him go.

"Yeah, the arl' fella's a regular Eddie Cochran." Paul came up to them, slinging an arm around his best friend's shoulder. "I'm proud you showed off yer skills."

"Thanks, Paulie!" George beamed. "And Ringo was a gear singer, too!" He turned to the oldest of the group, who rolled his eyes, trying to act nonchalant albeit his cheeks flushed and there was a nervous smile edging his lips.

"'m alright. Nothin' special."

"Oh, shut up!" George shoved him playfully. "Yer great."

"Well, that's it, ain't it?" John turned back to look at the curtain shielding them from the stage; the last few groups were still waiting, and he heard classical music drifting from the assembly room where the group after them were playing. "Hopefully we get a decent mark."

"Didn't you see Martin's face? He seemed actually impressed! We probably will." Ringo grinned.

"Hmm.." John pretended to think. "I think yer right on that, Rings." He slung an arm around his friends' shoulder. "Let's go. To be honest, I can't be bothered attending the rest of the day." They began to walk off out of backstage.

"Oh, oh! Let's ditch again!" George hurried to catch up to them. "I still got some money leftover, I kinda want ice cream." 

John let his arm fall from his friends' shoulders as they began to chatter, falling back a bit until he was only a metre away from Paul. 

"Surprised you managed not to fuck up the performance, Lennon." The boy crossed his arms, hip jutting out slightly as he stared down at him from half-lidded eyes. John hated how much Paul tried to make himself look superior and smart to him. The words he had spoken to him when they ditched school before echoed in his mind; "I don't think you need any more, John." looking him up and down. 

"Surprised yer still bein' a fuckin' tosser after all this time." John seethed. He wanted to kick his face in for saying those words to him.

"Ugh, whatever-" Paul rolled his eyes. "Since George has gotten 'imself attached to you two pricks, we'll probably see each other again at some point. You better not mess shit up fer him or influence him to stop studyin'."

"How lowly you think of me, McCartney." John huffed. He could feel the scathing words bubbling up his throat, just begging to be spoken.. he couldn't hold it in anymore. He wanted to get back at Paul for hitting a weak spot, and he knew just what he would say. "Besides.." he stepped closer. "Why would I ever hang out with a disgusting faggot like you? I'd rather not get me arse pounded behind the bleachers, like yer always doin', eh?" 

The colour drained from the doe-eyed boy's face, but he could see the rage boiling just below the surface. Nothing more was said; John just turned tail and left him standing there. Immediately all the rage he had expelled through the biting words died out. Why had he said that?? He was basically bullying himself at that point. He felt an intense urge to turn back around and apologise for what he said. Paul probably wasn't even a poof.   
_But I am._

_I'm no better than those pricks that bully him and George in the first place. How could I be so fucking stupid? You're a giant bag of dicks, Lennon._

"Hey, you alright, John?" George spoke up, snapping him from his reverie and making him look up. He was about to reply when Paul cut in.

"George, can I talk to you a moment?" His expression was a mask of placidness, but there was hurt glittering momentarily in his gaze; as he locked eyes with John, his gaze hardened to anger before he turned away and took his friend aside. Him and Ringo hung back, not looking to get involved or be caught listening in. They whispered back and forth, getting harsher with each second, before there was a defeated sigh from George. The boy turned to look at them.

"Actually, you two go on-" George shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Me and Paul are gonna stay back and do some work. Don't want our grades to start fallin', since we're on scholarship.." he smiled weakly at them. "See you later."

"Bye, George!" Ringo waved, the younger smiling at him before turning away. John said nothing, just watching the two walk away. Paul's fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles were bleached white, and he wished that he had the courage to apologise to him. I'm sorry, Paul. I'm a knobhead.

"Let's go, eh?" Ringo turned to him with a faint smile. There was a question in his eyes at his disquieted state, but John just forced a tight-lipped smile to throw him off before beginning to make his way down the hallway. He couldn't tell him about it yet. Ringo would blow up at him, for good reason.. he couldn't say anything yet. He prayed Paul wouldn't go spouting it to the world either; but he wouldn't blame him if he did. 

They trudged on in comfortable silence as they left the school grounds and began to make their way to the chippy. It was just a tradition between them, to go get chips whenever they ditched. He was glad Ringo wasn't asking any questions. 

They rounded the corner, the school building disappearing from sight before they walked past the alleyway between it and the next building, which was a house. But suddenly, a voice sounded behind them, and they halted in their tracks.

"Well, well, well... what have we here?" 

They whipped around. There Kevin was, looking snarky as always, hands on hips - both Pete's, Colin, and another kid he couldn't really remember the name of were a little way off, leaning against the fence in the alleyway, smoking and whispering to each other while looking at John and Ringo. Stuart was absent from the group.

"Kevin." John greeted, smothering his anxiety and shoving his hands in his pockets, looking nonchalant and bored. When he saw that Kevin's nose still had some tape on the bridge, the skin around it yellowed with a healing bruise, he remembered his own wounds from the fight. His eye had de-swelled a fair bit and he could see through it, now just fading purple and turning yellow, while the wounds on his cheek and chin had scabbed. But he wasn't about to add anymore to his list if he could help it.

"Let's just cut to the chase. What the hell's your problem? Why'd you swing at me, eh?" Kevin glared at him. 

John knew exactly why he did, but he wasn't about to tell the truth. He thought to himself for a moment, scrambling to get some half-baked answer to let him off the hook and not get him beat up for the second time in a few days. Oh! What he had said to Stuart earlier seemed fair.

"Didn't Stuart tell you?"

"Yeah, but I doubt him. He seems all too eager to defend you all the time." He scoffed, crossing his arms. "You better explain yerself before I add another bruise to yer collection." His arms fell to his sides, and John noticed his hands slowly form into fists. Oh god, John. Make it quick. Don't fuck it up.

"What he said was true, man. No need to get yer testes in a twist." John, you fucking idiot! Don't aggravate him! But he'd admit it was fun to watch his face turn into a tomato. And it was pretty well-deserved. "I was drunk off my arse, mate. Did'ja see how much I drank?" He raised a brow. "I think I was mad cause I saw you leerin' at me girl or somethin', I can't even remember. I'm sorry, man, really. I didn't mean any of it."

"Really?" Kevin tilted his head, looking genuinely confused. "I didn't go near Cynthia." 

"Yeah, but someone else did. Someone from another school," Ringo piped up. Thank god he saved his arse! "'e looked a lot like you, actually. I think John must've mistaken you for 'im."

"Yeah. Sorry I thought it was you." John almost cringed. Why did he have to make up with this prick? He'd much rather just kick his head in and walk away. But he had to keep up his reputation, and he'd rather not get on the bad side of Kevin and have to make sure he wouldn't get jumped, because he knew that would ultimately happen if he got on the bad side of those guys.

"Well, that's good, eh!?" Kevin exclaimed, suddenly relaxing and throwing his arms around Ringo and John, smacking them harshly on the back with a wide grin. "Glad we cleared all that up, eh?" 

"Come'ead and hang with us, John, Ringo!" Dark-haired Pete called, waving to them. "Gonna go meet up with some birdies we pulled soon."

"Oh, uh-" John winced, him and Ringo exchanging an uncertain look. I don't want to bloody hang out with these guys. "sorry, lads, me and Rings have already got plans."

"Oh, what's that?" Kevin let them go to stand in front of them. 

"Got a double date with our own girls, y'know? Cynthia's a little shy around other guys, so I wouldn't want to bring her along." He lied through his teeth.

"Alright," Kevin nodded. "Didn't know you had a girl, Rings!"

"She's from.. out of town." Ringo faked a smile.

"'kay. See ye both 'round, eh? Colin here wants to have a little get together Friday, if you get what I mean." He winked. "You in?"

"Oh, uhm.." Ringo started, turning to look at John again. Should we just say yes? John nodded subtly towards them, chewing on his bottom lip; his friend seemed to have understood what he meant, so he turned back to them. "sure. We'd be down."

"Fab. Bring yer girlies too, if you'd like. Bye," Kevin began to light up a cigarette.

They said their own goodbyes before practically booking it out of there, wanting to get away from them as quickly as possible. _Shit, another damn party? Let's hope I don't get wasted enough to start a fight again. And that Paul doesn't come this time._

"What the hell do we do now?" John burst out when they turned onto a different street, sure they wouldn't be able to hear them now. "I don't wanna be friends with him, he's a fucking tosser!" 

"Yeah, me too.." Ringo agreed with a sigh. "I think we should just leave it for now. We don't need another episode of you gettin' beaten to a pulp."

"Yeah, yer right. Fine, let's just leave it." John huffed, crossing his arms.

"Hey, let's just go gorge ourselves on chips, eh?" Ringo turned to him with a smile. 

"Yer payin' this time," Glad of the subject change, John hurried ahead down the street with a cheeky grin.

"Hey! Didn't I last time?" Ringo caught up to him with a playful shove.

"No, git! I did!" John rolled his eyes, slipping a hand into his trouser pocket to pull out his cigarettes. "Want?" He held out the packet to his friend. The azure-eyed boy took one with a word of thanks, sticking it in his mouth and lighting it up. He lit John's and they hurried on, now armed with cigarettes.

"Fine, I'll pay. Then we're even."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS omg im so so sorry for the delay again im just going through some stuff right now and its been hard to motivate myself :")) pls bear with me aaaaH but i hope u enjoy this chapter !


	11. 11 ; strawberry fields

Glossy sheets of rain flooded the gutters outside John's room and doused his window in glittery drops. The sky had turned that pallid light grey with no variation, like a gigantic mass blanketed the earth below and wept with no end in sight; it seemed that in the distant horizon, though, sunlight shoved its way through any gap it could possibly find, showing that it wouldn't go on forever like it felt it had been for the entire day so far.   
Sooty smoke - a similar grey to the outside - spilled from his chapped lips and into the still air of his room, caressing the ceiling above before evaporating. The hiss of the cigarette burning furthermore as the tawny-haired boy took another drag filled the muted room, accompanying the idle plucks of a guitar laid across his lap as he let his fingers roam the used strings. His gaze bored into the roof above him, lost within his own thoughts - not having noticed his Jerry Lee Lewis record spinning uselessly on the record player, the needle already having completed its task twenty minutes ago.

He couldn't stop thinking about Paul that Wednesday afternoon. Letting his cigarette-holding hand fall to his chest, the boy shut his eyes tightly and let out a soft growl, annoyed at himself at stewing over how things last were with the raven-haired boy. _What do I bloody expect? I skipped school today to avoid him after what I said, it's just leaving me to my guilty thoughts._

"Agh!" He sat up quickly, dropping his burning cigarette butt to the floor, holding his burnt fingertips closer to his face for inspection. It had been burning to the ends and he hadn't noticed that either; he grabbed the nearest book off his desk and threw it on the butt to snuff it out, not wanting to burn his bare foot either by stomping on it. "Idiot." He cursed.

John let out a sigh, letting his body fall back onto his bed as he reached up to rub his sore temple. He had to do something about the Paul situation. He couldn't lie there forever in his self-pitying puddle of guilt and embarrassment, even if the boy was a bit of a prick to him sometimes. It was totally hypocritical of him to call Paul a poof (and use such a strong word like faggot) when he, himself, was very much one. He'd sucked Stuart off for christs' sake! Not something you can take back. He was feeling terribly spiteful and felt it was a good way to get back at him for pointing out his.. plumpness. It just made their already strained relationship even worse.   
Even if Paul didn't accept his apology - John wouldn't blame him if he didn't - it would at least clear his conscience to admit his mistake and try to patch things up a bit with the kid. They didn't have to be friends or anything, of course, but they wouldn't have to completely hate each other. It was best for their friends, too... Ringo and George wouldn't put up with their shit for much longer, probably, and would stop hanging out with them as much. 

So yeah. It's for the better. "For the better.." John repeated out loud, letting his eyes open and focus on the ceiling again. _How will I get him to listen to me? What if he just won't let me speak and tell me to stick it up my arse?_ He snorted at the last thought. _I'll just have to try. If George likes him so much, he must not be a total maggot._

But, he'd have to wait until after him and Cynthia's date. He was supposed to go over to her school and pick her up and they'd go down to the pier and get fish and chips. If he was honest, he wasn't looking forward to it at all. But - maybe it was the best time for him to tell her his true feelings, or lack thereof. They had never really confirmed themselves to be a thing, after all; there had never been any label put down, and they had only been on what? Two dates? And gone to a party together? They had barely done anything together. It's better to pull out now than waste time trying to force himself to have feelings for her and give up later on and hurt her. She was sweet and intelligent. He didn't want to completely drop her.. it'd be nice to be friends with her, at least.

"Time.." John muttered to himself, sitting up again and pushing his guitar off his lap onto the bed. He swung his legs over the edge and planted his feet on the ground, standing up to check the time on the alarm clock on his desk. Almost 3pm.. Cynthia's school day ended at 3:15. He picked up his freshly-bought cigarette packet and slipped it into the pockets of his drainies, swiping his car keys along with it before moving to his closet to get a jacket.

"Leather jacket?" He murmured as he flipped through his coats on his coat rack; "nah.." instead of picking the jacket, he instead fished out his long coat, since it was cold outside. He pulled on some socks and boots before slipping on his coat. Glancing outside, he saw the rain was ceasing. He let out a relieved noise. He thought they wouldn't be able to go to the pier in this weather, but it seemed if it stopped raining, then they could resume their usual plan. It wouldn't be very nice to sit on the pier, but they could stand and look at the docks after they ate.

He opened up his bedroom door - no sounds from downstairs, meaning Mimi hadn't gotten home yet, thank god. She would never know he'd ditched school and been at home all day; he descended the stairs and wrote a quick note.

_Off to a date. No, its not that Emily girl again. If the principal calls, been at school all day. Kidding, why wouldn't I be? :) Out of milk again, by the way.  
\- your darling, handsome nephew who never ditches school._

He left it on the kitchen table before picking up the umbrella he had stolen from him and Cynthia's date last week. He gazed down at it, hearing her voice echo in his mind; "John! You're so wicked!"   
He was just being cheeky to try and impress her. And to try and force feelings for her when he didn't feel anything beyond friendship.

With that, he opened the front door and stepped out into the daytime - and he was shocked to see the rain had completely stopped. The ground below was soaked, but at least they could still go to the docks now. He closed the umbrella and went on his way, his boots sending droplets flying everywhere as he trailed along. I look a little odd... he thought to himself, looking down at his outfit. He had on a long dark blue coat that he'd left unbuttoned, revealing his leather drainies below and his favourite red checkered button-up (never doing up the first button, of course). It was a bit of a weird combination, but he thought it looked good nonetheless. 

John eventually made it to her school; it was a small, girls-only high school, and he saw the students were just leaving after a long day. The only guys he could see were a few waiting outside the gates for - presumably - their girlfriends or something, and a few male teachers leaving the building to go home - but otherwise it seemed to be only girls.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and stood near the front, waiting for Cynthia to come out. Girls streamed from the front doors in clusters, chattering to themselves as they went on their way; quite a few began to notice that John Lennon was there, and they pointed to him in surprise and whispered excitedly to each other. He didn't really bother to indulge them, but sent a wink their way, making them dissolve into giggles and hurry away with glances in his direction. It bothered him. Usually he loved the attention, but lately he'd been more and more bothered by it.

"John!" He heard his name being called by a familiar voice - he lifted his head to lock eyes with Cynthia. She was carrying a bag and was making her way down the front steps, her blonde locks done up ; the girl grinned widely as she spotted him and hurried to catch up with him. She looked so pretty in the muted sunlight, her footsteps sending up droplets of water as she went. She was a nice girl. He felt bad that he'd be breaking it off, but he had no feelings for her.

"Hey, Cyn." He smiled at her as she reached him. "Let's go, eh?" 

"Yeah," She smiled back, adjusting the bag slung over her shoulder. With that, the two of them began to make their way out of the school's front yard. As they did so, a few other girls called to Cynthia in goodbyes, and she sent one back with a wave. They seemed to gossip even more when they noticed that the hazel-eyed girl was with John, and he made a stupid face as he passed them to make them laugh, Cynthia even chuckling herself.

"How was school?" He turned to her once they had started down the street. Usually he'd wrap an arm around her shoulders, give her a kiss on the cheek.. but he felt way too awkward to do that. He was about to break it off with her, it wouldn't be appropriate if he was affectionate with the girl.

"It was fine, y'know, have a lot of study to do this week.." she shrugged, gazing up at him with a smirk. "I'm going to make an educated guess and say you didn't go to school today?" 

"You guessed right," He laughed. "had better things to do."

"What 'better things to do' does John Lennon have, exactly?" 

"Anythin' other than work." He shrugged. 

"Oh- did you hear about Colin's party this Friday?" She brightened as the two of them reached the diner, squeezing their way inside. "Do you want to go together?"

He chewed his bottom lip anxiously. He had to say no; he couldn't lead her on anymore. "Uh.."

"What?" She paused and turned to look at him as they stood near the counter. 

"I need to talk to you first, Cyn," he sighed. "it's important."

"I hope I'm not in trouble!" She joked, albeit staring at him in concern for a few moments before turning to the counter. "what're you gonna get?"

"I'll just get a chip butty. You?" He was thankful for the change of subject, and he dug his hands through his pockets for some money. 

"I'll have some chips and a milkshake, please." 

"Comin' right up," He made his way up to the cashier and ordered the food; the girl at the counter took the money from his outstretched hand and he went back to stand next to Cyn as they waited. 

"Oh, yeah- apparently your performance yesterday was amazing!" She beamed at him in admiration. "I'm sad to not have seen it." 

"It was great," John let a smile crawl across his face. "You shoulda seen George. Absolute prodigy. I bet he's gonna make it big in the future."

"Really? He doesn't look it." Cynthia raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"He came to the academy on scholarship, of course he's gotta be a genius." He shrugged. 

Cynthia seemed like she was about to reply until the cashier called their names, so they fell silent as they took the food with a thanks, turning to leave the diner. Once the pair had emerged into the crisp air, they set off for the docks.

"What is it you want to talk to me about?" She took a sip of her strawberry milkshake, turning to look at him expectantly.

"Um.." John grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "let's get to a spot away from other people first." He looked around at the passersby. This is gonna be hard. 

"Okay.." she trailed off, looking more nervous than before. For the rest of the trip they ambled on in a somewhat comfortable silence; they came across Stuart and Colin with a few other boys John didn't recognise on their way, but their interaction wasn't much more than a few "oi mate's" and "see you Friday!" before they went their separate ways. John sent Stuart a grateful smile, as if in thanks for him being the only one of the group of kids they hung out with that defended him during the whole Kevin fiasco, and the boy replied with one back and a wave to let him know he knew.

"I'm so excited for the party!" Cynthia grinned before turning to him with a smirk, waggling a finger in front of him jokingly. "But you better not start any fights this time, Lennon."

"No promises." He chuckled. "It's me brand."

"Not the best brand to have."

"Eh, I mean.. I don't start fights that much. The Kevin thing was the only time I punched first like, all year. I only punch them if they're dickheads." John shrugged, taking a bite of his chip butty. "I start them by talkin' shit to 'em."

"Bad-mouth John, huh?" She raised her brows with a grin. "You are more of a barker than a biter."

"Guilty as charged," He laughed; eventually, the two reached their destination. The pier below their feet was pretty soaked, but they leaned against the railings and gazed out at the murky water below, churning and slapping against the poles like a hungry beast wanting to suck them into the depths. John took the last bite of his butty that he'd shoved down hungrily, almost struggling to swallow it as he remembered what he was supposed to do on their date. Make it our last, he thought as he crossed his arms, leaning them against the metal railing. 

Cynthia seemed focused on the water below, munching idly on her chips, but as he gazed at her, she lifted her head to look at him. He managed a weak smile before he rested a hand on her shoulder.

"Cyn.. yer a great girl, y'know that, right?" 

"Thanks, John." She smiled, but her eyes betrayed her worry. "What is this about?"

"I really like ye. I've had loads of fun on our dates, but..." he licked his lips nervously. "I don't like you the way you might. I think we should be just friends." He sighed. "'m sorry."

Cynthia fell silent, gaze darkening with sadness. "Oh.. well.." 

"'m sorry, I really am. I still want you around, though! Yer a lovely girl, I just don't have y'know.. the same feelings." He rubbed the back of his neck again. I don't like seeing her sad like that.

"No, no- it's okay." She managed a weak smile. "It's no problem. I don't mind being friends." 

He gazed at her earnestly. "Are you sure? I don't want you to feel obligated-" 

"Trust me, I'm sure." She shook her head, resting a hand on his shoulder and gazing up at him. "I wish you luck with your future girlfriends." 

He smiled down at her and chuckled. "You took this way better than I expected. I thought you'd yell at me for leadin' you on and I'd have yer milkshake dumped on me by now." 

"I was considering.." she joked. "no, I wouldn't do that. It's not your fault you don't feel the same."

"Thanks, Cyn. Yer honestly the best." He turned back to look at the water, both falling into a comfortable silence. After a few seconds, he spoke up again; "And Cynthia?"

"Yes?" She ate the last of her chips.

"We should go to the party together. As friends." 

"Y'know...maybe we should." Cynthia smiled softly.

"It's a deal."

-

Long shadows flitted over the grass, the sky stained red as if it was oozing blood and washing the undergrowth in scarlet. A puff of smoke was expelled into the cool air, fading into nonexistence as it reached the treetops. John flicked excess ash to the ground as he strolled along, one hand in pocket while the other brought the half-smoked cigarette to his lips, sucking in more tobacco to his lungs. He kicked idly at a loose rock as he ambled along, staring up at the trees and bush of Strawberry Fields; the almond-eyed boy had decided to spend some time at one of his favourite places to avoid Mimi, since she was still a bit angry at him for getting into a fight and drunk off his face, and she'd be even more angry if she found out he'd ditched that day. She probably knew it was a daily occurrence for him to ditch, though. But it would be better for him to just stay away until she'd expect him to be home.

He still couldn't get out of his own head; his wandering thoughts drifted back to Paul again, wondering when he could see him to try and apologise. Would it even work? What was the point of even trying? He might just tell him to get his head out of his arse and fuck off. And he still wouldn't be able to get mad at him for it. He crossed a line. Yeah, Paul had said a lot of shit to him, but it was way hypocritical for him to call him a poof, and he'd just turned into the bullies that called him those things anyway. He had to stop dwelling over it so much - he'd end up confined to his bed feeling sorry for himself. 

He huffed in frustration, kicking particularly hard at a tree root. Of course, it sent pain up his foot and he let out a pained noise, staring down at it; he tested it gingerly on the ground before finding it wasn't hurting too much and put his full weight on it. He'd been about to continue his leisurely stroll, but fell short when a familiar noise drifted to his ears. 

Guitar notes? He thought in mild surprise. Who'd be out here at this time? He picked up the pace, stepping lightly across the gravel pathway, following the noise. The guitar notes grew louder and louder - he noticed they were stilted with random pauses, as if someone was trying out a new chord progression. He paused, standing behind an ancient oak tree and peering around the trunk to see who it was without alerting them.

Someone was sitting up against the trunk of a tree, guitar in their lap and melancholic notes echoing through the clearing; he squinted, suddenly wishing he hadn't left his glasses at home. Who was it? As he leaned forward to try and see them better, he recognised the dark head of hair, the honey-coloured guitar and the academy uniform. His half-lidded eyes with dark lashes focused on his leather notebook as he hastily wrote something down.

Paul! He almost spoke his name out loud. What was he doing there when it was almost dark? _It's almost weird how he's here while I was just thinking about him. Should I announce myself? How should I do it? Should I just stroll in? I don't wanna scare him; if I do he'd probably punch me in the face or something._ He felt an urge to step forward to talk to him, but something held him back - he stayed silent and listened as Paul began singing along to his guitar playing.

"Yesterday.. all my troubles seemed so far away.." The notes were melancholic and wistful, and something John had never ever heard before. It didn't sound familiar to any song that he'd ever heard. What kind of witchcraft is this? How is this kid so fucking good at making songs?

"Now it looks as though they're here to stay.." Paul continued on, oblivious to who was watching him; "I - somethin' somethin'... yesterday." His singing faltered to silence and he seemed to transcend into thought, picking up his pen and twirling it in his hand. "What should I put there..?"  
John decided he'd better say something or else he'd look like a creep, watching him the entire time and saying nothing. 

"I think you should keep the 'somethin' somethin'. Suits it pretty well." He quipped as he emerged into the open, flicking his cigarette butt to the ground and smothering it with his heel. He stopped a few metres away from Paul, who stiffened in alarm and whipped around, staring at John in shock.

"Wh- John? What the hell?" He blinked before suddenly remembering who he was talking to, gaze darkening with anger as he glared daggers at the other. "Thanks fer scarin' the shite out of me, prick."

"It's what I do best." He shrugged. His heartbeat was picking up speed for some reason and anxiety began to churn in his stomach. _Jesus, I'm so nervous. Stop being such a bird, Lennon!_ He sucked in a breath and shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to calm his bouncing nerves.

"What you doin' here?" Paul flipped his notebook shut and put his pen down, moving his guitar onto the grass as he crossed his arms, gazing at him challengingly. John almost gulped out loud.

"Could ask you the same thing." 

"Ugh-" The raven-haired boy rolled his eyes with a clench of his teeth, leaping to his feet. "Yer such a fuckin' knobhead, y'know that, right?" He closed the distance between the pair within a few strides and shoved him harshly, eyes sparking with rage, lip curled in defiance.

John stumbled back from the force of the push, staring at him in shock; he didn't expect that he'd be mad enough to shove him. He quickly shot up his hands in surrender and stared at him nervously.

"I know, I know! No need to get physical, mate." 

"Care to explain why you were such a tosser yesterday? Or have you decided to gang up on me with that arsehole Kevin and pick on me?" Paul threw up his hands. "What is it with you? One day ya try and save us from a beatin', the next yer callin' me the same shit he called me!"

"I know, and I'm sorry! 'm a giant wanker." John sighed, digging his fingertips into his eyes harshly. "Can you just hear me out, alright?"

The doe-eyed boy fell silent for a few seconds - he opened his mouth as if to speak, but just closed it again and crossed his arms, nodding for him to speak. "Go on, spit it out, then. It better be good."

"Look, I just.. I say shit sometimes when I'm angry or feel wronged and it's stupid. That shit you said about me being fat really pissed me off and - I wanted to get back at you. I really am sorry about it," He licked his lips anxiously, tugging at loose strings on his trousers. "I mean it. It's really hard for me to apologise.. I know it isn't an excuse, but it just all came out before I could really stop meself. I'm always spewin' shit before I think, it's gotten me into trouble more times than I can count." He chuckled, albeit humorlessly.

Paul was silent. His arms slowly uncrossed, all anger in his gaze fizzing out as he stuffed his hands in his pockets, expression troubled and unreadable.

"You don't have to accept my apology. Just wanted to get it off me chest, y'know." John sighed, eyes dropping to the floor as he scuffed his foot against the grass. His cheeks flushed pink and he chewed on his bottom lip, embarrassed that he even had to do stupid shit like this. It always made him feel dumb and weak whenever he had to apologise. I probably shouldn't, but I can't help it! "Promise I won't do anythin' like that again."

The younger was still unresponsive. John grew yet even more nervous when the uncomfortable silence still hung over them, causing him to look up and lock eyes with Paul again. He still looked terribly troubled, as if all these conflicting emotions were churning inside him; but he wasn't immediately rejecting it, so that's at least a good sign.

"..okay- f-" Paul huffed in frustration, as if he was annoyed that he even had to accept an apology from someone he disliked. "fine. Y'know what?" He turned to look at him again, glaring him down. "I accept yer apology. Somewhat. Whatever. Anyway-" He spun around on his feet, back turned to him as he made his way back to his guitar. "can you go? 'm in the middle of somethin'."

"Wh-what?" John gaped. "You..you accept it? Seriously?"

"Yes! Now piss off, wouldja?!" He spun around to glare at him defiantly again; John noticed, though, that his cheeks were beet red and there was a certain glint in his eye. "Just 'cause I accepted yer apology doesn't mean we're best fuckin' mates."

The almond-eyed boy couldn't feel any more happier. He actually accepted it! That was a big jump in their rocky relationship. It was refreshing, and not what he expected at all. Maybe they were on the road to patching things up. They'd had a bad start, sure, but it didn't mean they could at least leave it on a higher note.

"Right.. see you 'round then, Macca." John smirked smugly, flashing one last gloating glance his way before beginning to leave, kicking up fallen leaves as he went.

"Don't call me that." He could almost picture the younger's petulant glare.

"Whatever you say, Macca!" He turned around to wink in his direction before disappearing through the trees, not looking back; he felt Paul's stare bore into his back until he was out of sight. For some reason, he felt lighter than air and his heartbeat was strangely erratic, skin tingling excitedly - he even did a little jump in a mini victory of his own as he slipped through the gates of Strawberry Fields. He'd actually done it! 

Of course, it would take a long time until the incident was fully behind them.. it possibly never would be. But they didn't have to be enemies. 

Maybe he's not as bad as I thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wooAAAH a little bit of positive development in their relationship?? cRazY 👁👄👁 enjoy heehee


	12. 12 ;; grades

"John! Why weren't you at school yesterday?"

John tugged his frayed school blazer tighter against his body as he jogged to catch up with his best friend; a wintry breeze nipped at his flushed cheeks, clothes flapping in the wind as he hurried along, cupping his hands around the flame of his lighter to keep it from going out as he attempted to light his cigarette. The sky above was ominously grey, a regular occurrence in the English autumn season. They were going to have to prepare themselves for the constant rain, and eventual snow in winter. Not like we aren't used to it, though.  
Ringo was across the street, waiting expectantly with his arms crossed, smoking a cigarette of his own, shirt untucked and shoelaces untied. He looked jittery and uncomfortable at being in the cold like everyone else seemed to be, since everyone had gotten accustomed to the heat. They'd have to start wearing coats and scarves everywhere.

"Sorry, Rings." He puffed, slowing when he finally reached him, smiling apologetically. "I just.. needed to be alone for a bit. Y'know?" He lifted a hand to rub at his temple tiredly. "I'm sick of school and it's only been a week and a half."

"That's okay," the azure eyed boy smiled at him as they began their usual trek to the academy; "sorry, didn't have time to get us teas or anythin'."

"Aw, I woulda loved one!" John groaned. "Oh well." He wouldn't admit it, but he was feeling strangely warm inside already - when he thought of Paul. He'd apologised to him for what he said, and it seemed he'd actually accepted it. Could they possibly be entering better territory in their relationship? He didn't think Paul was the type to forgive easily. Well, John wasn't either. But it was harder for him to admit mistakes. Don't get your hopes up too much, Lennon, he told himself. Just cause he accepted the apology doesn't mean he's forgiven you nor wants to be friends. But.. it wasn't totally out of line. They had a few things in common. They should at least not argue all the time for the sake of their friends.

"Hey, what's got you so smiley?" Ringo's voice tore him from his reverie.

"Huh?" He lifted his head, blinking innocently at him. He hadn't realised he'd been smiling.. fuck. Ringo always notices everything, damnit! He forced his lips into a straight line. "'m not smilin',"

"Yeah, you are. What happened, eh?" A grin spread across the older's face, and he bumped his shoulder into his, taking another drag of his cig. "I know something's up. C'mon, spill the beans!"

"Nothin' happened!" John insisted, raising his eyebrows at him. It seemed to not have worked, however, since Ringo just stared back at him silently, smug smile painted all over his face. "Ugh, fuckin' hell, Ringo. Fine.. somethin' happened."

"What was it? Did you pull a particularly fit bird or somethin'?" His eyes glittered excitedly.

"No, no!" John shook his head with a grimace. "That's the last thing I wanna do right now. I meant.. I talked to Paul."

"Oh. Did you guys finally work shit out?" The azure-eyed boy's excitement turned to confusion and slight hope. He obviously doubted that they'd actually somewhat made up.

"I mean-" John shrugged, taking a long puff of his cigarette, expelling the smoke with a sigh. "sort of? I had.. said some pretty dumb things 'cause I was feelin' all spiteful. I- I apologised, and he took it with a grain of salt, I guess. That was it. Not us becomin' friends or anythin'.."

"John.." Ringo furrowed his brows, staring at him suspiciously. "what'd you say to him?"

"Uh-" John pressed his lips together, feeling his cheeks flush with embarrassment as he rubbed the back of his neck, trying not to show his nervousness. "nothing,"

"Ugh, you can never keep yer fuckin' mouth shut, can you, Lennon?" The older groaned, slapping his hands over his face before turning to glare at him; albeit, there wasn't any real anger in his eyes.

The auburn-haired boy faltered. His gaze dropped to the ground and he shoved his hands in his pockets, discarding his cigarette and stomping it out before continuing on.

Ringo seemed to relax and he let out a sigh, rubbing John's shoulder comfortingly. "'s okay. As long as you apologised to him. And, y'know what?"

"What?" The younger lifted his head.

"That's some development right there. John Lennon apologisin'??" He laughed incredulously. "Somethin' must've happened in yer brain."

"I guess it did. The arsehole side of me decided to step back for a second to let the slightly less of an arsehole side of me take over."

"Very nice of yer arsehole side!" Ringo laughed. "Oh, and how was yer date with Cyn? Stu told me he'd seen you two walking from the diner,"

"Oh-" John grimaced. "That. I, uhm.. broke up with her. That's how it was."

His friend fell silent for a moment. "Jeez, 'm sorry. Well, you did say you didn't really feel anythin' for her, so that's good yer not leadin' her on anymore."

"Yeah. It's not right. She took it really well, though. She's lovely." He kicked idly at a leaf - as he glanced up, he realised they had made it to school already, kids swarming in from the bus or walking in, ready to start the day. He groaned and rubbed at his tired eyes. "Fuck, it's too early for this."

"It's always too early for school, honestly," Ringo laughed. "I-" He seemed about to continue talking, but cut himself off when he seemed to spot someone in the distance. His gaze lit up with happiness and he called out "Oi, Geo!" before hurrying away. John hurried after him to not lose him in the crowd, and saw as they got closer - George waiting impatiently by the gates, grinning widely when he spotted the two of them. Paul was also standing bedside him, looking distant and gazing at the crowd around him. At anyone but him and Ringo.

"Rings! John!" The youngest of the group ran forward to meet them; him and Ringo shared a brief hug while the almond-eyed boy greeted him by pulling him into a headlock and ruffling his hair like he usually did.

"Hey! I spent ages on this!" George protested, reaching up to try and style it back into its original quiff with a pout. John, being the little devil he was, watched on with a snicker.

"Come'ead, let's go before we're gonna get detention for bein' late again." Ringo gestured for them to follow as he began to make his way into the school. They all followed behind, the oldest of the four falling into conversation with George.   
John fell behind near the back, a metre or so behind Paul. He felt suddenly awkward again, and he couldn't help but sneak a glance in his direction. The doe-eyes boy was gazing at the ground with his hands in his blazer pockets. He was wearing a jumper under his jacket and a thick black scarf, a new addition to his uniform, John guessed. He always wore the grey jumper with it but since it was getting colder, he was wearing a scarf too. His nose had been dusted pink from the cold, and his cheeks were beet red against his pallid skin. Why am I focusing on him so much? Who cares? He shook his head as if to clear himself of his thoughts.

"Helloo? John and Paul?" A hand was waved in front of his face and he snapped back to reality with a jump; as he stepped back, his shoulder bumped into Paul's and the two leapt away from each other like they'd been burnt. He felt his face flare up like he'd been caught doing something weird. George stared at them both with curiosity and confusion. "What's goin' on with you two?" 

"Nothing!" The pair spoke in unison - causing them to glance at each other in surprise. Paul's cheeks flushed even more than they were from the cold and they immediately turned away and looked to the floor, John twiddling his thumbs anxiously and letting out a small cough. His cheeks burned even more and his heart was beating erratically. Jesus, what's wrong with me right now?

George dissolved into laughter at their expressions, looking even more interested than he was before. "What's with you guys? Yer actin' really weird. What happened??"

"Nothin'! Stop asking." Paul huffed, sticking his nose in the air and storming away dramatically. John almost found it amusing.

"I'll go after him," Ringo offered, running to catch up with the raven-haired boy. George turned to John with an even more confused expression.

"John, what happened between you two? Did you fight again or somethin'?"

"Oh, no no-" John shook his head quickly. "Well, uh. Some-some stuff happened and we did fight but I apologised. And like we sort of- made up. A bit. I dunno."

"Oh my god!" George exclaimed, grinning more widely than John had ever seen him do, revealing his sharp canines. "So you guys are friends now?"

"I wouldn't count on it," He sighed. "I'd say I just did somethin' stupid and he accepted my apology and that was it. Don't think we're gonna be anymore than reluctant acquaintances."

"Oh," George faltered, but he didn't seem to get upset; instead a sly grin ran across his face and his eyes sparkled as if he just found out a new idea. "well that's too bad then."

John watched the lanky boy in bewilderment as he skipped away happily, whistling a tune to himself as he went. I wonder what put him in such a good mood.

\- 

"Hey, John! Yer performance on Tuesday was gear, man! Yer a great guitarist."

The auburn-haired boy looked up from his desk with a blink of his tired eyes; Pete Shotton was smiling back at him from his seat in front of John and Ringo. He forced a smile, whacking his friend on the back.

"Thanks, Pete."

John turned back to his book, picking up his pen and twirling it in his fingers - he'd been scribbling away and drawing random faces to pass the time during class, bored out of his mind as always and not paying attention to anything Mr Martin was saying. He'd only been listening at the beginning of class when the teacher said "Stay back at the end of the lesson to collect your results for your performance!". After that, he simply tuned out, like always.

He'd been doing his best to keep his mind off Paul. He didn't know why the kid was invading his mind so much, and it was beginning to frustrate him. He'd never thought about the boy this much than he had been that day. He kept instinctively looking over to him, wondering about tiny things like "that's a nice pen. I wonder if Paul would like it" or "does he have a favourite movie? I wonder what his favourite type of ice cream is."   
God, shut up, John! He clenched his teeth in annoyance, crossing his arms over the desk and glaring down at his work book. You sound like a stupid dizzy bird.

His breath hitched in his throat at a sudden realisation; fingers freezing in their twirling movements, the pen sliding from his grasp. He didn't even notice. I'm not catching feelings for him, am I? He shook his head quickly, clenching his eyes shut. No way! That's the worst thing I could possibly do. You're not liking Paul, okay John? ANYONE but Paul. He hates your guts. And is probably as straight as a bloody ruler. Don't start falling for him now.

He lifted his gaze, trying to expel the constant amble of thoughts of Paul away and focus on what's around him. He turned to glance at Ringo, seeing him chatting idly to George, who still looked as excited as he did before they went into class. What was up with him? John tilted his head in curiosity. He's had some epiphany or something after I told him about my apology to Paul.   
Speaking of the droopy-eyed boy - he was listening intently to the teacher on the other side of George, chewing on his bottom lip in concentration as he stared ahead before writing something down with knitted brows. John felt his heart jolt strangely while gazing at him, cheeks flushing hotly; he quickly looked back down at his book, pressing his lips together to try and keep a straight face. Jesus christ, stop it Lennon! You're NOT gonna start liking Paul. 

"Guys! Class has ended, let's go up and get our grades!" Paul turned to them with an excited glint in his eye, nudging for George to get up as he rose to his feet. John tried not to think about the (unfortunately cute) excitement in his gaze as the three of them scrambled to follow the raven-haired boy. There were quite a few people having lined up already, waiting to collect their scores - so of course, everyone was pushing to get there first so they could leave the class quicker. Mr Martin stood next to his desk, handing out the papers with the results from their task as quickly as he could, looking frustrated at all the bombarding. Eventually, the four of them got to the front, Paul being the most eager to find out what their grades were.

"Ah, the 'Fabulous Four!'" Their teacher greeted them with a pleased smile. "You four displayed quite the performance on Tuesday. I'm very impressed." 

"Fabulous Four?" George echoed, looking confused. 

"I like it!" Ringo grinned. "Maybe shorten it to 'fab', though."

"Fab Four! That's fun!" John laughed. He tried not to pay attention to the fact that Paul's lips quirked up in a small smile. 

"Here are your grades, Mr Harrison, Mr Starkey," Mr Martin collected their paper and handed it to them, Ringo taking it was a thanks before peering at it.

"What is it?" The four of them crowded around him to see.

"A+!" George exclaimed, turning to look at their teacher in confusion. "Really?"

"Yes. You two had a very good work ethic, and good songwriting and performance." He smiled at them encouragingly. "You both worked well with John and Paul for the final bit."

"I knew you two would get it!" John smacked them both on the back in congratulations.

"What about us?" Paul piped up.

"Here-" The man handed them their paper. John couldn't really bring himself to feel very excited about it, but seeing how much the doe-eyed boy was itching to know made him more interested himself.

"An A.." Paul spoke out loud, brows furrowed.

"Shit! Can't remember the time I got an A!" The older's eyes went wide in shock. An A?? Wow, working with Paul gave me a good grade. Obviously. I can tell he's very determined to get good grades.

"Language, Lennon." Mr Martin corrected him sternly. John smiled sheepishly and apologised with a duck of his head. "The reason it's an A and not an A+ is because of your work ethic. I had to take off a few marks, because of the fact that you two couldn't get past your disagreements to work on your assignment." 

Paul faltered. He seemed disappointed by the mark, and even more disappointed that marks had been taken off because they couldn't get along. John felt a bit bad. The boy was at the academy on scholarship and he would have to maintain perfect grades to be able to stay, while John didn't have to really bother. 

"Now run along, I have work to do." Mr Martin waved them off. The four of them made their way out of the classroom; George and Ringo drew ahead while John lingered outside the door, feeling awkward.

"Paul?" He spoke up, coughing nervously - he twiddled his thumbs as the raven-haired boy paused and spun around to face him.

"Yeah?"

"Sorry about.. the grade. I know y'probably have ta keep up good scores. I didn't mean to bring down yer average." He felt his cheeks burn, but he tried his best to keep a cool demeanour, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"What? It's fine, really." Paul waved him off, looking as unaffected as ever. "'s not gonna happen again." With that, he turned to catch up to their friends.

"Hey Lenny, Paul!" Ringo greeted them as they came up behind the pair. "See you at lunch, Paul, yeah?"

"Yeah." Paul agreed before breaking off from the group to go to his next class. John had maths with Ringo and George now, so the four of them made their way to it. John shoved his hands in his pockets again, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He had to find a way to stop himself from catching feelings for Paul. How on earth would he do that, though? He couldn't let himself start liking him. He's the worst person he could ever like. He wasn't a bad guy, but it was a very bad idea to fall for him. Someone that until the past few days he disliked immensely. Or so he thought..

He'd have to find a solution soon.

-

"Hey, I wanted that!"

John held out the last carton of chocolate milk in front of his friend with a sly grin. George glared at him from eyes that seemed almost totally obscured by his dark, alarming brows, reaching out to snatch it from him - of course, he was unsuccessful and the smug boy plucked it out of his reach, holding it high above his head. 

"Too bad! All mine now." 

The auburn-haired boy let out a snicker at seeing George's petulant pout, crossing his arms with an annoyed huff. As he did so, he noticed that Paul's gaze bore into his side, making his laughter dissolve into fake coughs as he turned away, heart racing fast and stomach lurching oddly.

"Jesus, don't tease him that much, John!" Ringo joked, resting a hand on the frustrated boy's shoulder, smiling warmly down at him. "I'll share mine with you, if you want, Geo."

"Oh, thanks, Rings!" He grinned at him. All his anger melted away immediately, replaced by affection sparkling in his eyes. Jesus, they're really both in deep, John thought. 

Deciding to fuck with them a little bit, he made a vomit noise and pretended to shove his fingers down his throat - this caused Ringo to step away with wide eyes, glaring at his best friend and making a cutting motion at his throat, cheeks beet red. George looked pretty embarrassed himself, looking down at the ground with a nervous rub of his neck. John grinned devilishly at the blueberry-eyed boy, sending a wink his way.

Paul was understandably watching the interaction with a confused furrow of his brows; John turned to him and shrugged his shoulders as if to say "I dunno!" making the younger's lips quirk up in a smile. It lasted only a second, though, since he quickly pressed his lips together to mask it and looked away, cheeks dusting pink for some reason.

"Anyways, 'm gonna go get a sandwich." The almond-eyed boy spoke up, gesturing to the cafeteria counter before making his way to the sandwich section.

"We'll go get a table!" Ringo called after him; he sent a stupid face their way and a thumbs up, making them laugh before they disappeared into the crowd of kids in the boisterous cafeteria. 

"Now, let's see.." John muttered under his breath as he turned to the sandwiches. Deciding on just a ham, cheese, and lettuce, he picked it up and went up to the counter to pay for his food and drink. Once he'd done so, he squeezed his way through the crowd of kids to find his friends; he eventually spotted them at one of the tables at the very back, so he weaved his way through passersby to get to them.

He'd just reached the table, about to sit down next to Paul, when he heard a familiar voice call his name.

"Oi John! Come sit with us!"

He whirled around to see Stu, Kevin, both Pete's, Colin, and a few other guys were sitting on the biggest table, a few girls sitting with them. When he made eye contact with them, Pete Best and Colin stood up and made his way over to him, Stu looking awkward as he followed. One of the girls in particular was eyeing John up, but it just made him uncomfortable, standing there like an idiot with his food in front of the table where Ringo, George, and Paul were watching him uncertainly.

"Hey Ringo!-" Colin started as they jogged over; they fell short when they spotted them with Paul and George. 

"What are you two doin' hangin' out with these losers?" Pete laughed incredulously. Stuart just looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but there.

"Hey arseholes! We're right here, y'know." Paul spoke up with a curl of his lip, glaring at them.

"Shut up, fag." Colin sneered. Paul grew even more enraged and leapt to his feet to stand nose to nose with the other.

"Say that again."   
John's heart sank when he saw Paul's hands draw into fists; he stepped forward, not wanting a fight to break out. People were already beginning to stare and stop what they were doing to watch - they didn't need to start fighting and end up in detention. John would be suspended for sure.

"Just piss off, the lot of ya." He crossed his arms, staring them down as he stood next to the furious doe-eyed boy.

"What?" Pete Best tilted his head mockingly. "So it's true. You two have become friends with the pooftas." 

"Fuck off!" George stepped up, Ringo following behind. Everyone was watching them now, eager for a fight to break out as ever. I can't let this escalate, John thought hurriedly.

"Pete, stop it. Let's just go-" Stu started, staring at the boy imploringly.

"Piss off, Stuart! Unless you wanna join his side too?" Colin glared at him.

"What?" The boy's eyes widened incredulously. "Just stop being a dickhead, alright? This is stupid!"

"I knew there was somethin' about you, John. You've probably taken a likin' to this one, eh?" Colin shoved Paul with a hand, glaring at him with a new venom in his eyes that he'd never seen directed at him before. "Couldn't resist his pretty face."

"I'll make you wish you had a tougher one!" Paul snarled. John saw him lift his arm in the nick of time, about to punch; he shoved his way between them and stopped his swing with his palm.  
"Paul! It's not worth it." 

"Piss off!" Paul elbowed him away with a death glare his way, storming away from the scene, looking as if steam was practically spilling from his ears. George and Ringo followed behind him, the latter shooting a middle finger in their direction before they left the cafeteria; this caused the spectators to go "ooooh!!" excitedly.

"So you've really become one of them, eh?" Pete laughed scornfully.

"No, I haven't." John stared at them, feeling eerily calm. It was time to stop lying to himself. He wouldn't be friends with them anymore; he cared about his friends too much. "I'm just not an unsympathetic, spineless arsemonger, that's all." With that, he left the scene, not looking back.

When he entered the hallway outside the room, he saw that Paul was pacing fervently, glaring at the floor with resentment smouldering in his gaze; George and Ringo were sitting on the floor, up against the wall, the latter looking defeated while the former cursed under his breath. Probably muttering about how much he wanted to tear their guts out or something.

As soon as the raven-haired boy spotted him walking towards them, he stormed up to him and scowled, throwing his hands up in frustration.

"Why didn't you let me punch him?"

"Paul, for fuck's sake!" John growled, rolling his eyes. "We don't need to start any more fights. It's over and done with. They're tossers, yeah, but not worth getting detention over." He let out a long sigh. "If I get in one more fight, I'd get suspended. Already been suspended once, if it happens three times 'm expelled."

It seemed Paul was going to say more, but instead his mouth just fell closed and his anger seemed to fizz out, shoving his hands in his pockets with a disgruntled murmur.

"Let's just eat here, how about that? It's too cold to go outside."   
Ringo smiled warmly at them all; it was comforting to John in a way, and he sat down across from them, resting his sandwich in his lap while he began to try and open his carton of chocolate milk. Paul eventually sat down a metre or so away from him with a reluctant sigh, resting his head in his hand.

"How'd you get suspended??" George gazed at John with wide, admiring eyes as he took a sip of Ringo's drink.

"Oh.." John couldn't help but smile sheepishly. "I was caught - with a girl in the bathroom, y'know.. just before class. By some younger kid who told on me 'cause we were in the only stall that had toilet paper left and he was annoyed. I'd already been caught with like 4 other slip ups those past 2 weeks, so they suspended me."

"Shit!" George dissolved into laughter. "Player John!" 

"I remember that!" Ringo snickered. "Ye were pretty happy about being suspended though, 'cause then you could have a few days off school and fuck around."

"It is fun," John agreed with a grin. "but I'd rather not get expelled just yet. Mimi would literally chop me up into little bits, put it into a bag, and send it to me ghost with a note that says "this is YOUR fault, John Winston Lennon!""

"She would!" Ringo laughed even harder, George choking on his drink a little and dissolving into a coughing fit.  
John noticed that Paul had been strangely silent throughout the telling of the story, eyes dark with an emotion he couldn't really identify as he gazed at the floor.

"Hey, Paul-" Ringo's laughter died out, and he gazed at the ebony-haired boy. "you alright? You don't have any food."

"Oh-" Paul lifted his head, the troubled emotion in his eyes waning as he half-smiled at the other. "I didn't have enough fer food today."

The four of them fell kind of silent for a few seconds, George and Ringo glancing at each other; an idea began to form in John's head and chewed on his bottom lip nervously, gazing down at his sandwich. His heartbeat picked up the pace as he tore it in half, feeling his palms sweat a little as he held out a half to Paul.

"Here. If you want," he offered. John felt his cheeks burn hotly at the fact that he was being such a sap. Stop being so bloody obvious, you twit!

Paul stared at him incredulously, like he'd just grown three heads and asked the time of day. C'mon, take it, don't make me look like an idiot.. He seemed guarded and reluctant to take the sandwich, but eventually he just let out a huff, glaring at him and taking it with an uttered 'thanks', refusing to look at him as he took a bite.

He felt Ringo and George watching them with great interest but he kept his gaze fixed determinedly on the floor, taking a sip of his drink, pressing his lips together to try and keep a neutral expression.

"Glad to see you two gettin' along," The azure-eyed boy grinned impishly, George's eyes sparkling with delight at the scene before them.

"Shut up!" Paul and John spoke in unison; this caused them to quickly direct their gazes to the floor again, the latter's stomach fluttering erratically as he tried to focus on literally anything else other than the pale-skinned boy next to him.

"Whatever you say," George giggled. "anyroad, d'ya hear about what Emily and..."

The words he was speaking faded into the background as John fell into thought, staring down at his half-eaten sandwich. What were they going to do now? Those kids in that group were their friends, technically. Not all of them were so bad. Kevin, Pete, Colin, yeah.. a few others too. But not all of them were gonna just stop being friends with them because of that fight. It was going to be extremely awkward at the party on Friday, though.. were the arseholes gonna start rumours about them or tell everyone what happened? A lot of the popular kids were as fickle as a feather and would turn against them if they thought they were poofs. It wasn't like they were exactly best friends, anyway. He liked some of the kids, but he didn't like them. The extent of his friendship with them were talking about birds, smoking, pretending to look cool, and going to parties to get smashed and bed a girl. Nothing meaningful. Only Stuart, Ringo and George were the people he had actual meaningful relationships with. Maybe Pete Shotton too, he wasn't the worst guy and they'd actually had more fun together than he did with the others. But that was it. 

Maybe the party would be more bearable if we brought George and Paul along.. he thought to himself. He'd hate to say it, but he actually wanted both of them there, not just George. If anything happened, the four of them could leave and just hang out somewhere else. It would be more fun with them. They could just talk shit about the bullies there, drink a few beers, pig out on chips or something then fuck off. 

"Hey, guys?" He spoke up.

"And- yeah?" George stopped mid-sentence, the three of them turning to look at John curiously.

"Sorry to interrupt yer riveting story," John chuckled. "but I wanted to ask if you and Paul would come with us to the party on Friday. Everyone's goin' to Colin's and gettin' drunk then going down to the beach after and gettin' chips."

"Good idea!" Ringo brightened, smiling at the two. "What do ya say?"

"Yes!" George agreed immediately. "That'll be gear. We can get pissed and make fun of the tossers! Paul?" He turned to his best friend.

"I dunno.." The boy's eyes flashed reluctantly. "I'm not so into parties."

"C'mon, pleaseee, Paulie?" George begged with a pout. "Just this last one. We don't have to stay long, I promise. Let's just have some fun."

John gazed at him as he chewed the inside of his cheek nervously. He really wanted him to say yes.

"Ugh-" Paul huffed in defeat. "fine. But if there's another damn drunken fight, I'm out."

"I swear on me mum that I won't!" John jokingly made a cross symbol over his chest; this made Paul almost smile again, but he quickly looked away to the floor with an embarrassed look. 

Maybe the party won't be so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> teehe eee (: unrelated but im losing my fucking MIND we've been in lockdown since early july and its not gonna end until october 28th i havent seen people since june im actually fuckifng insaneeeeeeeee so much of this year has just been lockdowns and quarantines bro😭loving life rn


	13. 13 ;; beach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS OH MY GOD IM SO SORY FOR THE LONGEST WAIT HHH IVE BHRKJBKWEKJBAK not been in the best place but !! i finally had inspiration to finish up this chapter. hope u enjoy !! i hope i havent lost half my readers for not updating for almost a month😭

"Hey, Cyn!"

"Oh- John! Hello. How are you?"

"Alright," The auburn-haired boy we've come familiar with leant against the cabinet, tapping his fingers against the wood as he scuffed his foot impatiently. "Just wonderin' when's a good time to come over and pick you up. To go to the party?" He could hear Mimi stomping about upstairs, muttering angrily to herself as she went; he couldn't help but smile a little at it. She was going out with some friends, so the house would be empty - she said she might not even come home until tomorrow, so he'd be able to come home drunk and not be scolded, which was exciting for him. He was determined not to have a repeat of the last time, though. Vomit all over his bed, Paul McCartney asleep next to him and a busted face. Not the most pleasant of times.

"Um," There was a cough accompanied by a sniffle on the other end, and he noticed that the girl's voice sounded congested. She must be sick? "I can't come, John. Sorry,"

"You sick? I can hear it in yer voice." John furrowed his brows as he voiced his concern. "I hope yer restin'."

"I am, don't worry." She laughed before there was a fit of coughing, making him wince a little. "All the rain lately- I caught a cold. Are you going to the party with Ringo?"

"Yeah, me and a couple other guys. I hope you get better soon, alright? Don't do anythin' to make it worse."

"Thanks, and I won't. I'll see you when I get better. Sorry to disappoint."

He shook his head, before he remembered she couldn't see him. "That's okay. Just rest. See you later on, Cyn."

"Goodbye. Have fun!"

"I will." He hung up, letting out a sigh as he turned around to ascend the stairs and get his jacket. If he was honest, he was secretly relieved that Cynthia had gotten sick so she wouldn't come with them. He still was feeling a bit awkward after he broke it off with her and she was obviously upset about it; he didn't want to put up with the uncomfortable feelings when he just wanted to get loose. She probably would tag along while he hung out with Ringo, George and Paul, which would be even more awkward - already it would be unpleasant enough between him and the raven-haired boy. Their relationship was very unstable, but it seemed to be heading in a possibly more positive direction, and he was determined not to knock it off course.

"Keys, money.." he muttered to himself as he pocketed his belongings. He'd just slipped a few pounds into his pockets until something caught his eye; he paused in his movements and turned to look closer. The report from their song task. Mimi had been so pleased with his A mark that she'd been about ready to forget everything else that he'd done in the beginning of the school year alone. It was a rarity for him to get such a good result. It isn't for Paul, though, he thought with a hint of bitterness.

"See you later, Mimi!" He called over his shoulder as he descended the stairs.

"Be back by eleven or there'll be consequences!" He saw her appear at the top of the staircase as he swung open the front door, staring down at him sternly; he just flashed her a sheepish smile and a thumbs up before bolting out of the house, the door clanging shut after him as he went.

A soft breeze tickled John's cheeks, and he looked up to the sky - it was beginning to darken and flood with orange and purple, only a few smatters of clouds blotting it out. That day had been much warmer than their cold, rainy last few weeks, so he had only dressed in a black leather jacket, white t-shirt and black trousers. Itching for a cigarette, he slipped the packet out of his pocket and shook one out, sticking it between his lips and lighting it up; taking a puff, he continued down the street towards his destination: Ringo's place.

He was feeling a little apprehensive about the coming party. The other boys that they had fought with would definitely be there, and Colin in fact, was the host. It was going to be terribly awkward; at least they hadn't been asked not to come or anything, so it wasn't as bad as it could have been. He almost wished that they did ask them not to come so he wouldn't have to put up with it. I can hang out with Ringo, George and Paul, he told himself. They didn't have to hang out with the main group; they could just get some drinks, hang out at the beach, pig out on food and fuck off after a bit. Basically leech off of them then leave, he thought with an amused, albeit wry smile.

Eventually, the boy finally reached his best friend's house. It was a modest place, but always felt homey to him. He loved going there, and loved Ringo's parents, too. They were endlessly kind and sweet and were almost parental figures for him in his younger years when he had a lack thereof, and still were to that day, pretty much.

"John! Oi!" John looked up as he was opening the gate to find the source of the voice - which was Ringo, peering out from his open bedroom window at him with a grin. "Be down in a sec. Just wait there." The older disappeared into the house. The auburn-haired boy shoved his hands in his pockets with a grin of his own, excited at Ringo's endless enthusiasm. It was infectious sometimes.

After a few more seconds, the front door opened and the azure-eyed boy bustled out, calling a "bye, dad!" before he shut the door after him, catching up to John with a raise of his brows.

"Off to Geo's?"

"Yeah. Do you know where he lives? I don't." He took another drag of his cig as they set off down the street again, off to the next place. He wordlessly handed an unlit cigarette to Ringo who took it with a 'thanks' before he lit it up.

"Yeah," He nodded, turning to look at him. "how d'ya feel about the party?"

"I dunno. Let's just avoid those guys as much as we can." He shrugged with a half-hearted grimace. "I dunno if we should be going in the first place, if 'm honest."

"Let's just have a good time, eh?" Ringo nudged his shoulder with an encouraging smile. "We don't give a toss about the others. Right?"

"Right!" John grinned, nudging him back; they eventually had reached George's house, since Ringo turned and stopped as they reached a small brick house. He took one last drag of his cigarette before tossing it to the ground, stomping it into the footpath, his friend doing the same - John didn't want George's parents to catch him smoking in case they would disapprove. Most parents did, in fact. Mimi disapproved any one of his friends that looked even slightly like a ruffian, and disapproved the most that he dressed like them and listened to rock 'n' roll music. It was fun for him to annoy her with it, though.

"Ringo! John!" John was pulled from his thoughts as George's voice sounded near him. He looked up in shock to see George peering through the window next to the front door with an elated grin, before he dashed away, disappearing - only for a few seconds - and reappearing as he flung open the door. "Let's go!"

As the younger hopped down the steps to join his friends, a short woman peered out the door, calling out a "be back by ten!" before waving at Ringo and John (the former smiled and said 'hello, Louise' back while the latter just nodded awkwardly).

"Hiya, George." John smirked down at him, ruffling his hair. It was something that had become a regular meeting ritual between him and George - the dark-eyed boy just shoved his hand away with a glare (albeit with no real malice); "oi! I spent ages on this," he grumbled as he reached up to try and set the mound of dark locks back in its proper place.

"Let's go off to Paul's now, shall we?" Ringo wrapped an arm around George's shoulders. With that, the three set off down the street to their next stop.

"Free booze and food! This'll be fun." George rubbed his hands together excitedly. "We probably won't go to much more of these, will we? After the whole ordeal the other day."

"Maybe. I dunno if we're gonna even be friends with them anymore.." The oldest of the group chewed his lip anxiously.

"I don't know how you two were friends with them for that long." His lip curled in disgust ever so slightly, rummaging a hand through his pocket to pull out a cigarette pack.

"You smoke?" John furrowed his brows with a somewhat impressed smile. He didn't strike me as the type.

"No. But I nicked these off my da' just now, " George smirked as he held a lighter to the end; he stuck the cig between his lips and took a drag. Of course, he dissolved into hacking coughs, leaning on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. John burst out laughing, whacking his back roughly just to make matters worse.

"Easy, easy! Don't go too fast. Everyone always coughs for the first few times, anyroad."

"George, you sneaky rebel!" Ringo snickered. "We've been a bad influence on ya, I think."

"Shut up," George huffed with a petulant glare. "I just don't wanna look like an idiot next to you two."

"Yeah, yer in with the cool kids now, Georgie!" John grinned, pinching his cheek with his usual schoolboy mischief, causing the younger to shy away with a giggle and a glare.

"Fuck off!"

"Anyways, we're here."

The three of them slowed their pace as they reached the McCartney residence. John gazed up at the familiar house with a nervous swallow, feeling strangely apprehensive all of a sudden. What if Paul decided to back out? What if Jim answers the door? He's never met me or Ringo, though except for that one time I snuck into Paul's room.. no, that doesn't really count. He didn't know I was there. But from what I saw, he seems the type to disapprove of friends who don't tickle his fancy. He shook away the thoughts and turned back to look at the others; George had already come up to the front door and knocked, so the three stood waiting agitatedly for someone to answer. A few seconds of silence followed, until there was footsteps growing louder and louder - the door was swung open, and there stood Paul, dressed for the party. John's gaze immediately was trained on his hair, and he noticed that it had been greased up and curled slightly into a more teddy boy variation of his usual style. He was wearing a pair of black and white sneakers, dark brown trousers and a black shirt with a red corduroy jacket. The doe-eyed boy blinked down at them lazily, blowing a bubble with some bubblegum he was chewing before shutting the door after him and sauntering up to join them. He reminds me of Elvis. John thought with wide eyes. He felt his cheeks burn and he shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from fidgeting nervously. Agh, he actually looks really cool... fuckin hell, just shut it, John.

"Hey. Are we leaving now?"

"Oi, didja style yer hair different?" George blinked at him with an ever growing smile - the boy reached up to touch it, but Paul slapped his hand away with a frown. "You've never done it this way. I like it!"

"Yeah, yeah. Let's get goin'." As John watched him for a few seconds, he noticed something else; his shoulders were hunched and his eyes were dark and troubled, brows furrowed in slight distress as he trained his gaze to the ground, not looking at anyone. Is he okay? Should I not have asked him to come?

George, ever observant of his friends, spoke up, voice laced with concern.  
"Paul, you okay? Ya seem down in the dumps."

"Oh.." The boy blinked, gazing at Ringo and John in reluctance before turning to look back in front of him. "Da's mad 'cause I got an A and not an A plus."

"What? A's a perfectly good grade." Ringo's eyes rounded with sympathy. "I'm sorry, mate."

John blinked, feeling guilty again. It's my fault that it was.. well, ours, actually. Cause we couldn't work together well.

"'s okay. I don't care." Paul's gaze hardened and he turned to look at the others, all traces of despondency evaporating. "Let's just get pissed."

"Yeah!" George pumped his fist in the air with a laugh before he took another drag of the cigarette, coughing only a few times and recovering in a few seconds. Paul snapped his head around to look at his best friend in shock.

"George?! Is that a bloody cigarette?" The droopy-eyed boy's nose wrinkled in disgust at the acrid tang of smoke as he took a step away from him. "Yer not seriously smokin' now, are ya?"

"So what?" George rolled his eyes with a playful nudge to his shoulder. "It's just a cig. No big deal. 'Sides, they made me do it!" He pointed to Ringo and John with a snicker. Paul lifted his head to look at them with a disapproving look, though he pressed his lips together to hide his smile.  
Both of them held their hands up in mock horror; "we swear we didn't do anythin'!" Ringo protested.

"I swear we're not tryin' to recruit him to our Satanic cult and sacrifice him to Lord Emoteb!" John deadpanned, albeit giving himself away with an impish smirk. Paul's only response was a roll of his eyes, though they sparkled with amusement, corners of his lips quirking up in a tiny smile.

"What?!" George mock gaped. "This is the first I've heard of this!"

"Speakin' of yer sacrifice.." Ringo grinned evilly before he dove in on the younger, tickling his sides until he was screaming in laughter for him to stop; George managed to slip from his grasp and speed off down the street.

"You gotta catch me first!" The boy yelled jubilantly over his shoulder. Ringo tore after him and John and Paul watched on, the former laughing at their antics while the latter just smiled fondly, shaking his head.

"They're such dorks, aren't they?" John turned to the other.

"Yer right on that." Paul stuffed his hands into his pockets, blowing another large bubble with his gum as he did so. "I can tell George likes Ringo a lot. He talks about him a lot. It's kinda cute, actually - but gets annoyin' after like, five minutes."

"Ringo likes him too." He turned back to watch the pair run around in circles, though he was too far away to hear what they were yelling. He knew Ringo liked George in more than a friend way, but wasn't going to tell anyone else, for his sake. "'m gonna go catch up with 'em." He picked up his slow walking pace to a jog as he hurried to reach the others. He still felt terribly awkward around Paul after everything that's happened. He couldn't stand being alone with him for very long.

"Fine, you win, Rings. I'm done." George was puffing when he reached them, leaning on his knees as he attempted to catch his breath, while Ringo was giggling to himself, breath shallow from running, gazing at the younger fondly.

"Ha!-"

"You two havin' fun?" John smirked, crossing his arms. Paul came up behind him a few seconds later, looking nonchalant and distant - he flinched a little in surprise, but tried his best not to look affected, stuffing his hands in his pockets with a cough.

"Of course. You owe me a beer now, Geo. Right?" Ringo smirked.

"Whatever." The younger rolled his eyes, a small smile emerging on his face before continuing on his trek; the rest of the group trailed along behind him, excitement surging between them like an infectious electricity. Even Paul seemed to perk up, looking much more enthusiastic for the party than he was before. "Let's not be too late. Then all the good stuff'll be gone."

-

Colin's house was large in size with two storeys, an extensive front lawn with lavish plants (I think his mum likes gardening, John remembered idly), lit up with small lights by the pathway to aid the partygoers. Not like it'll help when everyone's lagered up. He grimaced. There were a few people going in and out of the house, and John noticed that a few of them made their way through the front gate past them and down the street, chattering loudly as they went. It seemed everyone was migrating to the beach now, and the four had arrived a bit late. The sky above had already flooded with darkness, spotted with flecks of light, devoid of any clouds.

"Let's just get some beers and go down there, eh?" Ringo turned to them with an eager grin.

"God, yes! Can't wait to down some Guinness." John clapped his hands together with a smirk, leading the way to the front doors that had been left ajar.

"John plus alcohol didn't bode well last time around!" George snickered.

"I promise not to start fights this time." He turned to the other with a sheepish smile as they all clambered into the house. It looked like a regular party. Rock n roll music thumping throughout the house. He always felt it was an interesting feeling when you could feel the bass vibrating through the floor and in your chest when music was played loudly. People were walking about the house, some dancing still, almost all of them carrying a drink of some sort. Some looked pretty pissed already. They'd been about to veer off from the main group and go to the kitchen to acquire drinks until they were intercepted by a familiar face.

Colin and Stu had been walking past them until they recognised them and paused in their footing in front of them. The former gazed at them with an apprehensive glint in his eyes, brows furrowing as he did so; the latter blinked at them with a friendly glint in his eyes, though he managed an embarrassed smile as they stood there.

"Alright, Stu?" John was the first one to speak, feeling the tension thickening between the boys strongly - Paul lifted his head determinedly with a challenging glare towards the two, as if daring Colin to make the first move. George just eyed them with his resting face that looked like he wanted to gut them, while Ringo stuffed his hands in his pockets and let his gaze train on the floor.

"Good. We're startin' to go off to the beach." Stu jerked his head in the direction of the door. "See you guys there."

"Yeah, see ya." The almond-eyed boy nodded, watching as him and Colin broke away and made their way to the door, the latter sending one last hostile look before they left; it seemed the four of them collectively let out a sigh of relief once they had left.

"God, that was awkward." Ringo muttered, pushing forward to the front of the group as they continued on their way to the kitchen. "Let's avoid those guys as much as we can,"

"Dickheads, the lot of them." Paul curled his lip in disgust. John furrowed his brows at that, deciding to speak up.

"'Cept Stu. He's fine."

The boy only sniffed, not looking in his direction; he shrugged, not really bothered by it, attention turned eagerly to the display of drinks. A few people came in to carry them to the beach, he noticed, but otherwise no one. He picked up three beer bottles for himself before holding up two beer cans to Ringo with a pleading look.

"Can you carry a few extra for us, Rings? Please?" He grinned sheepishly at his best friend.

"Ugh.. fine." The azure-eyed boy took them both and shoved them into his jacket pocket with an amused smile; George handed him a half-empty bottle of pure vodka and a smaller bottle of orange juice.

"Shit! You goin' for the vodka, Geo?" Paul blinked in shock, impressed at the choice.

"Yeah! It's time to get proper pissed," He cheered as they left the house; with that, the four of them set off for the beach, away from the main cluster of people that were leaving. John cracked open his first bottle of beer and tipped his head back - he drank two large gulps immediately before stopping, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He relished the warm burn of alcohol down his throat, already seeping into his bones and warming his entire body. He let out a large burp when he was finished, which made Ringo and George snicker while Paul just suppressed yet another smile.

Eventually the group reached the beach area a bit away from the docks, chattering idly and sipping at their drinks. The other main group stayed relatively in a close range of each other, while the four stayed well clear of them in their own area near the small pier, which was abandoned. No one else was at the beach at this time of night, which John guessed must've been ten thirty. It was quiet except for the loud prattle and laughter from the other group and the distant crackle of their portable radio someone had brought, which was still somewhat rare. He wondered how they had gotten their hands on something like that when they lived in a tiny poor city like Liverpool.

George settled himself comfortably on the sandy ground and impatiently snatched the vodka and orange from Ringo's hands; the older chuckled as he did so, kicking off his shoes and joining him in the sand. John gazed at the dark water with fascination - the water seemed as if it was flooded with ink, slapping against the shore with a soft crash every few seconds, illuminated by the occasional street light and the moon that was halfway up its crawl into the sky. It looked a little ominous, but the tide was far from choppy and seemed as if it would be nice to swim in, except for the fact that it would be icy cold. Maybe just a dip. 

"We should go for a little midnight swim!" John suggested with a sly grin, downing the last of his beer and tossing the empty bottle to the side. He opened up the next one as he strolled closer to the water, close enough that it was able to caress his toes. He recoiled a little at the stinging cold.

"The only way you'd get me in there is if you dragged me in kickin' and screamin'." Ringo chuckled to himself as he took a gulp of his vodka and orange George had made up for them.

"Well, we'll just have to see, won't we?"   
He turned to his friend with an impish grin, gripping onto his ankles and beginning to drag him closer to the water. A screech erupted from the other and he tried to kick him away, dissolving into laughter when John finally let go, laughing to himself; George was giggling himself, cheeks flushed pink as the alcohol began to set in, while even Paul was smiling. John turned to look at him in shock that he'd been able to actually make him smile. His heart jumped erratically in his throat and he couldn't help chewing on his bottom lip nervously. When the younger saw he was watching him, he quickly pressed his lips together to conceal it, eyes fixed on the ground, looking extremely embarrassed to be caught laughing at any of his jokes. 

"Come'ead, Richie!" George rolled his eyes, nudging his side as he drank the last of his vodka and orange, looking pretty tipsy already. "It'll be fun. Let's just 'ave a dip."

"Ugh- fine." Ringo shook his head in defeat. "Let's leave th' drinks on the pier."

"And you, Paulie?" George lifted his head to look at his friend.

"Sure." The boy shrugged, taking a long swig of his drink before making his way to the pier a few metres away.

"Yes!" John cheered. "Last one in has to go get us more drinks!" He sped off to the pier after Paul; Ringo shrieked "NO!" and he heard frantic scrambling behind him to get to the ocean. By the time he stepped onto the worn-out pier, the raven-haired boy was stripping off his shirt, revealing pallid skin underneath and kicking off his shoes before diving in. John was thrown off course by what he'd seen (he hadn't noticed he was staring and felt his cheeks burn in shame) and slowed in his footing - doing this caused George to zip past him and leap into the water with a yelp of triumph. To not be last, he quickly tore his shirt and pants off and basically fell into the icy darkness in his haste. 

The gelid touch of the night ocean was overwhelming, making him gasp and immediately swim for the surface, the bitter cold seeping into his skin. It actually sobered him up quite a bit, he found, as he resurfaced. Around him, Paul's head bobbed above the water, looking terribly freezing but joyful, George coming up a few seconds later. Ringo swam up from behind him.

"F-fuck! It's so fuckin' cold, jesus christ.." The azure-eyed boy clenched his teeth together, wrapping his bare arms around himself and glaring at John. "why did we have to do this?"

"Lighten up, mate!" John guffawed, sending a wave of water this way. "We'll get used to it." 

"Hey! Don't you bloody start-" Ringo cracked a smile, sending one back his way, sparking up a fight; John sped after him, the other trying desperately to swim away to avoid his clutches. 

"And they're off!" George took on the role of a commentator, hurrying after them and giggling as John caught the older and dunked his head under the water, Ringo sputtering and trying to escape from the hold, barely able to push hard enough cause of him laughing so hard. Paul watched on with his beer in hand, drinking away at it with a small smile. 

That night was a good one. For the next few hours - after John and Ringo had finished their playfight - they lazed about in the water. Ringo was the first to get out and lie in the sand, George eventually joining him, the two droning on amongst themselves, while Paul sat up on the pier, his feet dangling just above the water. John, having gotten used to the temperature, drifted on his back in the water languidly, gazing up at the pitch black sky, lost in thought. The four of them were thoroughly pissed, but had entered the quieter stages. They didn't even really notice that the other group was doing their own thing, some of them even leaving to go home. They didn't interact with them at all that night.

The auburn-haired boy had just been rising to stand, swimming closer to the pier to get the last can of beer, when he spotted that the doe-eyed boy was staring at him. When he locked eyes with him, Paul quickly turned away, chewing on his lip nervously. John couldn't see his exact expression for the fact that it was very dark and he hadn't had his glasses, not really able to see much farther than a few metres in front of him.

"Can ya help me get up?" John blinked at him, squinting to try and see him better as he gripped the side of the pier. 

"Alright," 

The younger reached and gripped his arms, hoisting him up with a grunt, John settling down once he'd gotten up on it. Sighing, he reached for the last beer can and opened it with a crack, downing a few gulps before putting it down with a content smile. Him and Paul were sitting right next to each other, so close that their thighs were pressed up against each other. The latter quickly scooted away a little with a cough, gaze fixed on the softly lapping beach below that sucked at the water-rotted poles. 

"Did you like comin' here?" John spoke up, turning to look at him curiously. His movements were sluggish and his thoughts were muddled, and he had to try and focus on not saying anything that would scare him away. 

"Yeah," He nodded. "who knew this would actually be fun?" The tiniest of smiles tugged on the edge of the boy's lips, John noticed.

"Who knew Paul McCartney was actually fun t'hang out with?" He snickered.

He got an unimpressed stare in return, making him grin apologetically.

"Sorry."

"Whatever," Paul rolled his eyes, turning back to look at the water. He noticed from his slumped shoulders and furrowed brows that he looked sad, and he softened, gently poking his arm.

"Hey."

"Wha'?" He crossed his arms.

"What's up?"

"What'd'y mean?"

"Yer sad. What's wrong?" 

"Like I'd tell you." He glared at him for a few seconds, anger sparking in his eyes - but all the anger died as he saw John's uncharacteristically serious face, making him sigh and look away again, shoulders slumping even more. "I dunno. Me mum loved this beach."

"Why's that makin' ya sad?" He blinked in confusion. 

"Um.." Paul trailed off, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he hid his face away from him. John sat there for a few seconds, trying to make sense of what he meant in his alcohol-addled brain, until it finally clicked.

"You mean.." he started, eyes widening in shock.

"Yeah," A tired silence followed, only broken by the distant giggles of George and Ringo and the other partygoers far off that were making their way home. "it.."

John kept silent, worried that if he spoke he would break this spell that had fallen upon them, Paul finally opening up to him about something for the first time. I can't believe this right now... don't fuck it up, John!

"It happened when I was fourteen. Makes it hard for me to-" The boy swallowed, and John leant his elbows on his knees, gazing at him in concern. "to get close to people." He could hear the raw hurt in his voice, the aching longing - it made emotion swell in his throat too, making him clench his teeth together to keep his cool.

"I.."

"Go 'head an' laugh at me." Paul sounded more bitter now, as if he expected John would make fun of him for opening up to him. "I know we don't get on. I shoulda never said anythin',"

"No-" John started, gazing at him incredulously, almost getting defensive. "why the hell would I do tha'? You think I'd bloody laugh at ya?"

"Well, I dunno." He shrugged, picking at his nails absentmindedly. "From everythin' tha's gone on between us, I really thought you would."

"I wouldn't with somethin' so serious like that." He grew despondent at the fact that Paul thought he would. "I didn't know you thought that lowly of me."

"Well, ya didn't exactly make it easier on me, didja?" The younger shot a glare his way.

"I'm sorry. I am. I-I dunno how to make it up t'you." He scratched the back of his neck, feeling himself beginning to sober up a bit more suddenly at the serious subject.

"Start by not bein' a prick, I guess."

"Right," he half-chuckled to himself. I didn't even know Paul went through the same thing I did.. "just so you know.."

"Yeah?" The doe-eyed boy turned to look at him, flicking a damp ebony lock of hair out of his vision.

"Me mum - she.. died too. Earlier this year." He felt the familiar sorrow beginning to flood his stomach, chest tightening as he strained not to show any of his emotional turmoil. "It was so recent, I think about her all the time. It's hard." Rage boiled in his bloodstream and he clenched his fists, glaring down into the inky depths of the water below. "Some fuckin' drunk off duty copper hit her. I was just getting to know her,"

Paul's eyes rounded with sympathy, scooting closer to him ever so slightly as they sat on the pier. There was nothing that needed to be said; something seemed to change in the two boys, the rift that was so prevalent beginning to crumble away more and more, though not fully disappearing yet. 

"And me dad fucked off when I was five, so.." John felt the anger in him dissolve a bit, leaving behind just exhaustion. "that's how I came ta live with me aunt."

"I'm sorry." His voice was quiet, soft. It wasn't pitying, not even just sympathetic.. empathy. He knew what it was like to lose a mother, there was something between them that they shared. Someone that understood what it was really like. 

"It sucks, right?" John's voice was just above a hoarse whisper.

"Right." Paul nodded, gazing at him with a sad, but uncertain glint in his eyes. The two of them sat in silence for a few seconds more, just listening to the lazy chatter still going on from their friends. Too far away to make out what they were really saying. "I-"

"Hey! You two! Havin' a good time over there?" George's yell interrupted whatever the doe-eyed boy was about to say; they both looked up in surprise.

"Shut up, Geo! Let them be." Ringo mumbled, giggling to himself as he laid in the sand, the youngest of the group splayed out next to him.

"Just fine, thanks, lads." John shot back with a chuckle.

"Uhm.." The doe-eyed boy slowly stood up, leaning down to pick up his shirt and jacket discarded near them, pulling them on over his wet body. John tried his best not to stare. "I'm gonna go home. Da's gonna be upset 'm late already."

"Oh, okay." He felt almost disappointed that he was leaving so soon.

"See ya tomorrow, Paulie!" George sat up.

"Bye, Paul." Ringo nodded in his direction.

The raven-haired boy said his final goodbyes as he pulled on his shoes before beginning to walk away, slow in his movements - as he was still tipsy, probably. John watched him go, pondering on whether to say goodbye himself; he stayed silent, though, when the younger turned to send one last glance in his direction. John wished he could see what his expression was, but within a few seconds the boy disappeared into the darkness.  
He searched blindly for his own clothes, beginning to pull them on himself, finally being affected by the cold. 

"What was all that about?" He looked up to see Ringo coming towards him, looking for his own clothes. 

"Oh.. what?" He decided to play innocent, just standing up (unsteady on his feet, though) and starting to quickly make his way off the pier in case he'd accidentally fall in. 

"You know what. You and Paul sat together for a while, talkin'. Are you guys finally becomin' friends?" Ringo's eyes glittered with delight.

"Maybe. No promises," John shrugged, trying to hide his smile as he began to walk away.

"W-we'll see you tomorrow, yeah, John?" George stood up, stumbling and almost falling - except for Ringo catching him before he did so. 

"Yeah. You two get home safe," He nodded at them before turning away, shoving his hands in his pockets as he began to make his way home. His thoughts were much clearer now, having sobered up with that talk with Paul.

Maybe we might be able to be friends after all.


	14. 14 ;; chips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi omg sorry for the delay !! hope u enjoy this chapter, theyre slowly beginning to be friends hehe ((:

Muted, pallid light filtered through the window, spilling onto the cluttered desk below it and onto rumpled sheets. The mattress screeched in protest as John sat down on it, sinking under his weight as he lifted up his foot to pull on his shoes; he gazed with blurry, tired eyes at the floor for a few seconds when he had finished, mouth gaping open in a yawn for the fifth time in fifteen minutes. His head throbbed and his mouth felt as dry as sawdust - having had a rocky sleep the night before. He had slept in on Saturday to recover from the party, deep into the day, and was unable to sleep until four in the morning - the night before school began again. 

Mimi had been terribly frustrated with his sluggishness when she had woken him up. Her exact words were; "honestly, John! You should wake up yourself at this point with an alarm or something! I will not have you continuously be late for school." (He'd just blinked at her, still curled up in bed, barely even reacting to it. Party because he was used to it, partly because he was still struggling to stay conscious.)

I don't know if I can even be bothered about wearing my glasses. I just want to see properly for once. He thought to himself as he picked up said pair off of his desk, slipping them on. Blinking, he was relieved that his vision had cleared a bit, and he continued getting ready for the day. Sliding on his jacket, he pocketed all his usual items needed for the day - cigarettes, keys, lighter - before throwing his school bag over his shoulder. Very typical of him to worry more about cigarettes than schoolbooks.   
He was beginning to feel nervous about going to school; vague memories of the party sprung to mind again, and he thought about when he talked to Ringo on Sunday about it. His friend had been less pissed than him that night, and he told him about what he remembered happened. He had been talking to Paul - he remembered that himself, but what the conversation was about he was a big vague on - for a long time, sitting at the edge of the pier by themselves, and they'd swum around in the water for a while.

I remember the swimming, the talking.. but what was it about? He chewed on his lip as he left his room, losing himself in thought as he subconsciously made his way down the stairs. I think Paul told me something about his mum. That she died? Or implied it? I can't fucking remember, jesus.. he sighed in annoyance to himself. I sort of remember like.. thinking that maybe he was opening up to me. Why is it irritating me so much that I can't figure out what really happened?

"John? You're staring off into space." A voice interrupted him.   
He lifted his head in surprise, snapping out of his reverie to see his aunt standing by the kitchen table, staring at him in slight confusion. "Did something happen? You seem jittery, and you're wearing your glasses without me having to remind you."

"Oh-" he started, licking his lips nervously, trying to shake away the thoughts of Paul again. "nevermind. It's nothin'. See you after school, eh?"

She furrowed her brows ever so slightly, which John knew was Mimi Speak for "we'll discuss this later," before she waved him off, saying her goodbyes and disappearing into the lounge room.

Sighing again, he adjusted his Buddy Holly glasses before trudging out of the house, the door clanging shut after him as he went. Realising that there were people outside walking past, he quickly shoved said glasses into his pocket, his worries about seeming nerdy rising again. With that, he began his hike to school; the weather was a tad windy, but not too cold - the clouds above were a frosty white, eventually evolving to grey in the distance, meaning that it would probably rain later on. The ground was littered with slowly rotting leaves finding homes in gutters and the edges of footpaths. It'll be snow in a few months, he noted. 

He'd been ambling on for a few minutes, making his way to the usual spot where him and Ringo would meet up, until he heard a familiar voice call his name as he neared it.

"John!"

Lifting his head, he spotted who it was. Ringo - as expected - but George was there as well, along with Paul. The azure-eyed boy seemed joyful and waved for him to come over, while the youngest of them apparently matched his friend's enthusiasm. The latter had his gaze determinedly fixed on the ground, not even acknowledging his presence when he came up to them. I'm not surprised. He probably feels crazy awkward after our last interaction.

"Aye, you three. Let's go 'ead, eh?" He jerked his head in the direction of their route and they continued their walk.

"You look like shit, mate! You okay?" George spoke up, furrowing his brows at him with a mischievous smirk.

"Thanks for that expert analysis, George." The almond-eyed boy scoffed. 

"Just statin' the facts. An- wait!" The boy's hand darted into his pocket and revealed his glasses, staring at them curiously. "You have glasses, eh? I didn't know that. Did you know that?" He turned to Ringo with a questioning look.

"Yeah, 'course. But he'd rather be legally blind than wear them in public." Ringo snickered.

"You dickheads- just give it back." John rolled his eyes, nudging George; albeit he was unable to hide the grin creeping across his face. He was glad he was able to snatch it off his friend eventually. 

"How much d'you bet Kevin and his followers are gonna jump us on the way to school?" Paul turned to them with a small smile, raising an eyebrow. I thought he was just going to keep silent because I'm here, John thought, eyes widening a little. I wonder if he remembers what happened at the party?

"Oh, Paul, really!-" George crossed his arms, laughing to himself a little. "it's not that bad. I'm sure they might make a few comments and that's the extent of it."

"George is right." Ringo agreed. "We knew a lot of those guys, and some of them were alright, and half of them aren't really as tough as they make themselves seem."

"Yeah. That party was fun, though! Better that we didn't hang out with the rest of the kids." The other shook a cigarette out of his pack, sticking it between his lips and lighting it up. Smelling the familiar smoke, John began to itch for one himself.

"Gizzus one of those," he held out a hand. After George had given him one and lit it up for him, he took a drag, lungs filling up with its contents before he expelled out of his nose with a relieved sigh. 

"I remember John trying to drag me into the water!" Ringo glared at him playfully. "Prick. Then you made us all run for it and try to get in first."

"What can I say? I'm a shit stirrer." He shrugged with a half-supressed smirk, flicking leftover ash to the ground before taking another drag.

"Yeah, I bet you stir shit. In the toilet!" Paul drawled with an impish smirk, staring at John with an expression that screamed "I dare you to keep it going".

"Well, you're a known vomit stirrer, fuckin' vomitin' all over my bed not a few weeks ago!" He shot back. "Also, I saw you pick yer nose at lunch once!"

"What?" Paul laughed incredulously, though his expression demonstrated he was caught. "No bloody way-"

"Yeah, you did!" George clapped his hands gleefully, happy to be making fun of his friend at any opportunity. "You wiped it on the bottom of the table!"

"No!" Paul protested, cheeks going beet red, showing that he was obviously lying. "W-well- George shit his pants in class once!" He quickly pointed to the younger boy with a 'gotcha!' grin.

"Th-that was in year three!" George stuttered, glaring at him in agitation. "The chicken in me sandwich had been off." 

"It was year fucking six, you daft cunt!" Paul burst out laughing. 

"I think I remember which year I shit meself, thanks very much." George argued.

John and Ringo exchanged an amused glance, chuckling to themselves as the other two continued to bicker about when it happened. The four had finally reached the school now, and the area was teeming with kids as usual. They mainly kept to themselves, John scanning to spot their friends (old friends? ex friends? I don't know, John thought) as they passed through the front gates. He caught a snippet of George yelling "If you keep this up, 'm gonna bash yer stupid pale girly face in!" before he finally spotted Kevin.

The group were sitting at the front steps - John noticed Stuart and Pete Shotton were missing - and chattering to themselves, laughing loudly at stupid jokes as they grew nearer.

"How do we get around them?" Ringo hissed in his ear. "They've nearly taken over the entire damn steps."

"Just ignore 'em, we'll be fine." John huffed, stepping forward to the front of the group as they reached the steps. Paul and George had fallen silent from their argument and the four stayed as far away as they could from them while they trudged up the steps. They miraculously got into the building without any comments thrown their way, and John almost sighed aloud in relief. I didn't think we would stop being friends with them, he thought - he turned to look at his old friend group as the front doors fell closed behind them. He felt sad for a moment. Being popular was always important to him, at the cost of having more proper meaningful friends and putting up with their shitty behaviour to others. But not anymore.

He felt a pair of eyes on him; when he looked, he saw Paul quickly look away, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, trying to pretend nothing had happened. I almost prefer us fighting to this weird awkward phase, jesus! John grimaced.

"Anyways," George piped up, turning to his friends with a smirk. "Me parents are gonna be out Wednesday and won't be back 'til Friday. Ya know what that means.."

"We got the house to ourselves!" Ringo cheered. 

"We probably shouldn't do anythin' crazy on a school night," Paul furrowed his brows in worry.

"Oh, come on!" John nudged him. "It'll be fine. Ya get perfect marks, anyway, what could go wrong?"

The younger stared at him - unimpressed, obviously - before he crossed his arms, turning away with a half-hearted pout.   
"Whatever.. fine."

"Yes! Don't worry, it'll just be us. We'll have a gear time!" George whooped. 

"Yeah, yeah," Paul waved him off, beginning to walk again as the four of them bustled down the hallway. "let's just get to class before we're bloody late."

"Today we're going to be learning about mitosis - also known as a process of nuclear cell division, where a parent cell divides into two identical daughter cells..." 

I wonder if shitty parenting extends to cells too? John wondered as he sat there, head in hand, eyes half lidded as he struggled to stay awake. His leg bounced up and down restlessly, twirling his pen in his hand as his science teacher continued to drone on about whatever they were learning about, barely even listening as he sat at his usual spot in the back of the class.

"Could you stop bouncin' yer leg like that?" Paul turned to him, nose wrinkled ever so slightly, obviously miffed by John's restlessness. "'m tryin' to concentrate."  
The boy had chosen to sit next to him - neither George or Ringo shared their science class - for the first time of his own volition. He had had no other friends to sit next to, anyway. But it seemed he was regretting that very decision now since John was so restless and unwilling to actually do any work; unlike himself. 

"Sorry," John stopped his movements, leaning back in his seat. He let his head fall back and peered at the ceiling, deciding to count the ceiling tiles under his breath. "one, two, three, four.. five.. six-"

"Mr Lennon!"   
He snapped to attention when their teacher called his name.

"Yessir, Mr Smith, sir!" He immediately flew into a straight position, holding a hand up to his forehead in a salute in his usual jest. This made a few kids chuckle, even Paul cracking a smile before turning to look back at his work book.

"Very funny. Please pay attention instead of staring at the ceiling." He glared at the boy sternly. "Anyways, as I was saying.." 

Slumping in his chair, John let out a groan, running his hands down his face. "So boring!" He muttered before opening up his book. He twirled his pen in hand again and thought to himself. I want to draw.. but what? He lifted his head to glance at Paul, who was drinking in every word their teacher was saying, scribbling stuff down as he did so. Huh. An idea began to form in his mind. He might be interesting to try and draw.

Taking out his glasses, he slipped them on and opened to the last page of the pretty much empty book. This'll be fun. He stole a few glances in the other's direction before beginning to sketch. It was a little messy at first, but as he continued sneaking occasional glances, a drawing of Paul sitting next to him began to form; John began to recognise the droopy eyelids, the slender nose and arches brows as he began to form them on paper. He continued it for the next few minutes - it seemed Paul was too invested in his work to notice yet - before beginning to shade everything in. For some reason, he felt odd drawing the boy, cheeks flaming up in anxiety as he grew steadily more nervous that Paul would glance over and notice what he was doing. He'd probably be weirded out by it, maybe even laugh.

John had just been adding in final details to his dark locks of hair when Paul's concentration finally faltered and moved out of position, scratching at his nose. He froze in position, about to close his book, when the other looked over and spotted what he was doing.

"Oi, what's that yer drawin'?" He leant his elbows on his desk, scooting closer to him slightly and trying to get a better look at what it was.

"Nothing!" John replied a little too quickly, slamming it shut and shuffling it closer to himself. Wow, couldn't be more obvious, he cursed in his head. He felt his cheeks began to ignite in embarrassment. 

"Woah, what were you drawin'?" Paul snickered, looking much more interested now due to his reaction. "Lemme see." He reached out a hand to try and grab the book, but John quickly plucked it out of his reach.

"Nope."

"C'mon! I promise I won't laugh at ya. Were you drawin' you and Mr Smith gettin' marrried?" He leaned forward in his seat; this caused John to have to press his back up against the wall, the proximity closing between them as Paul tried to snatch the book from him.

"No, for fucks sake!" John snorted, trying his absolute hardest not to notice that their faces were inches apart and that Paul was smirking at him in a way that made his stomach lurch oddly.

"Lennon! McCartney!" They both froze, springing apart at the voice that called their names. The teacher was glaring at them furiously, arms crossed while kids snickered to themselves, watching them curiously. "Disturb the class again and it's detention for you both."

"Yes, sir." Paul replied meekly. John didn't notice though, that he had snatched the book from him when he hadn't been paying attention, and now was flipping through the pages. Once the attention was off them, he tried to get it back, feeling terror begin to bubble up in his chest.

"Twat, give it back-"

"Oh, stop whinging!" Paul held it away from him with a smirk. John fell back in his seat, defeated, as he watched the doe-eyed boy come upon the page where he'd drawn him. Who cares. I can say it was just practice.

"I-" He watched as his expression changed from smug to shock, eyes widening and lips parting slightly as he gazed at it. "Oh."

"I was just practicin'." John shrugged, tapping a finger against the desk to hide his nerves.

Paul was silent for a few moments, slender finger tracing faintly along the messy lines drawn of his face. His cheeks went beet red and he gently placed on the desk, still gazing at it, chewing on his lip nervously.

"It's.. actually really good. You made me look much better than I actually appear." His voice was laced with embarrassment, though he seemed quite impressed as he glanced up to look at him - he saw that his eyes were glittering nervously, though, looking almost shocked that anyone would draw him.

"I just draw what I see." John stared back at him. Seeing Paul with his glasses on always shocked him more and turned him into a nervous mess, struck by his surprising beauty when seeing him in high definition. God, John, please don't start! He scolded himself. You're not supposed to start catching feelings for him, remember?

"Um, yeah. Yer art is actually gear. I didn't know you could draw." Paul examined the drawing again with a fascination. "Can I keep it? I really like it."

"Oh-" John was caught off guard. Does he actually like my art or is he just embarrassed because I drew him? He thought, worried. "if you want, sure." 

"Thanks." Paul blinked at him, the corners of his lips twitching up in a smile as he gently tore out the page and folded the drawing, slipping it into his pocket. Does he actually like it? I can't tell. Is he gonna throw it out later? John fretted in his head. "Now 'm gonna get to work - actually this time - so please keep the fidgetin' to a minimum."

"Roger that, general Macca." John joked, relieved that the subject had moved on and he could put it to the back of his mind (he was definitely going to think about it for the rest of the week, though). 

"Ugh," Paul rolled his eyes, though they sparkled with humour. "whatever."

-

"Hey, d'you guys wanna get chips?"   
Ringo turned to look at his three friends curiously as they bustled out of the school building, hurrying down the steps - along with the rest of the kids - as they left.

"You know 'm always down for tha'," George grinned, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

"Oh, I'd love some too, actually." Paul adjusted his school bag slung over his shoulder as they paraded through the front gates. 

"Greasy oil is just what I need." John shoved his hand into his pocket to fish for his cigarettes, lighting it up and taking a much-needed puff. Paul wrinkled his noise at the acrid stench, moving away to stand next to Ringo.

"Urgh, don't smoke near me,"

"Whatever." He shrugged. 

"Oh my god!" George lit up, grinning to himself excitedly. "Ya know, I heard Oliver got suspended 'cause he was caught getting a blowie from Amelie in the bathrooms. That's hilarious!" 

"Fuckin' idiot. Everyone knows you have to go behind the buildin'- behind the bleachers or somethin', if ya don't wanna get caught." John snorted. 

"Then again, Charlie's bloody barmy anyroad. I don't feel sorry for him at all." Ringo scoffed, lighting up a cigarette of his own as they continued their trek through the streets to the fish and chip shop; the clouds above had greyed considerably, and John figured it would rain in the next half an hour or so.

They continued their idle chatter before they eventually reached their usual chip place, relishing the warmth inside in comparison to the bitter wind that had picked up over the day. Paul and Ringo went up to the counter to order while George examined the menu printed on the wall, John rummaging through his pockets to find his money. Alas, none came up in any of his pockets.

"Oh, shit-" he sighed in annoyance. "I don't 'ave any money."

"Want me ta get you somethin'?" George turned to him.

"Nah, 'm good." John waved him off, deciding on not getting anything instead. He stayed back as his friends ordered their food, puffing away on his cigarette as they waited for it to be prepared. Once it was done, they found a small table in the back corner that had been left unoccupied; they clambered into the seats and eagerly tucked into their meal.   
John rested his head in his hand, amused smile playing on his face as he watched George basically inhale four scorching hot chips at once - then have to drink three huge gulps of Ringo's vanilla milkshake to ease the burn in his throat.   
The enticing smell of their food made John's mouth water a bit. I should've taken George up on his offer, damnit!

"I regret my decision not ta get anythin' very much." John groaned.

"Ha, sucker! Look, John! Mmm, tasty chips!" Ringo teased, holding one up in front of his face before shoving it into his mouth. "Delicious."

"Tosser." John rolled his eyes, chuckling at his friend's dorky antics.

"Don't be so mean, Rings. It's not John's fault he's an idiot." George nudged the azure-eyed boy.

"I am not!" He protested.

"Tell tha' to all yer teachers at school and let me know how it goes." 

"Wow, is it bully John day? Fuckin' hell." The auburn-haired boy threw his hands up in mock hurt. "First Paul, now this." They all laughed amongst themselves for a few moments, before Paul lifted his head to look at him.

"Here. To make up fer earlier."

He gently pushed his box of chips closer to John before he looked back at the table, munching away on one. 

"You mean.. share?" John's brows knotted in shock. Is he actually doing this? I never thought I'd actually.. start to become friends with him. 

"Yeah. Hurry up before I change me mind." The younger glared at the table; he looked almost angry with himself for being friendly to someone he'd sworn never to be mates with.

"So it seems like you two are getting along now, eh??" George grinned widely, revealing his prominent canines. His eyes glittered with excitement to see his friends had most likely gotten over their initial animosity and had begun to get along.

"No!" They both immediately turned to him, speaking in unison - this caused them to glare at each other before turning back to the chips. John felt his cheeks flare up again in embarrassment. I'm not about to admit I might enjoy Paul's company just yet!

"Whatever you say," Ringo snickered to himself, sending a wink John's way.   
The almond-eyed boy pressed his lips together to conceal his shy smile, digging into the chips eagerly, relishing their familiar salty taste. 

I guess Paul is beginning to warm up to me after all.


	15. 15 ;; rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hii omg sorry a little delay hope u enjoy this !!

"Of course it's bloody pourin'.."  
The almond-eyed boy peered out the front door, slumping in irritation when he spotted the rain spewing from above and flooding the gutters; the clouds were clustered close together with dark underbellies, and there was a thin, forking strip of thunder that dissolved in the blink of an eye, accompanied with a distant roar of thunder that rolled across the city. Letting out a sigh, John left the door slightly ajar as he emerged back into the hallway to search for an umbrella; eventually he spotted the one he had stolen weeks ago on his date with Cynthia, tucking it under his arm as he adjusted his school bag slung over his shoulder. 

"See you tonight, John!" Mimi called from the kitchen before there was a rustle - as she most likely folded the newspaper she had been reading when John came down from his room.

"Yeah, bye," he called back as he shut the front door after himself. Untucking the umbrella from under his arm, he opened it up and began to make his way out the front garden and down the street, pace quick and swift in order to spend less time in the storm. The sodden footpath below him squelched under his shoes as he went, humming a tune to himself. "It's only love, and that is all.. why should I feel the way that I do.." 

He'd begun to work on a song he'd had inspiration for a day or two prior; it was more melancholic than the usual songs he would come up with, but one night he'd been lying awake, guitar in hand, plucking uselessly at the strings - and the tune had begun to form. He didn't know quite why, but it felt more personal than the others.  
His thoughts wandered to Paul again for a moment, thinking about their last interaction. Are we really becoming friends? After everything that's happened between us?

He lifted his head and scanned his surroundings when he had reached the meet-up spot where him and Ringo would usually meet; he eventually spotted him, George and Paul standing under a shop roof to hide from the rain. Only Paul seemed to be disgruntled, George and Ringo just looking relaxed as they chattered away. He jogged up to them.

"Aye, lads. Let's go, eh?" He jerked his head in the direction of the street; George and Ringo greeted him enthusiastically except Paul, who was staring at the ground, refusing to look at him. "You guys want to come under the umbrella or are ya 'right?"

"My ma' took the only one we have." Ringo sighed.

"Let's just run, then." George waved John off, emerging from under the roof and taking off - Ringo scrambled after him, the two yelling something incomprehensible and laughing as they sped ahead. Paul stepped forward for a second, gazing up at the sky uncertainly. He was still refusing to look at John.

"You gonna go after them or do you want the umbrella?" He held it out a little in invitation, gazing at the younger with a raised brow.

"I'm fine." The boy crossed his arms, striding out into the rain with hunched shoulders. John stood there for a second, about to catch up, when Paul froze and swung around, still glaring at the ground as he came to stand under it next to him. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, nose washed pink, his ebony locks standing out against his pallid skin. He was wearing a dull grey school jumper over his uniform along with his blazer, and a thick black scarf that he tucked his chin into. "Okay, yes please." His voice was barely above a whisper. John stared for a moment, terribly amused at what happened in a span of seconds before he just shook his head, the two beginning to jog down the footpath to catch up with their friends (George and Ringo had almost made it to the corner by then).

"C'mon, run faster, wouldja?" The auburn-haired ushered the other on, beginning to regret his invitation - he couldn't stop thinking about the way Paul's shoulder brushed his, leaving his skin burning and tingling in a bizarre way. Jesus, I'm really in it now, aren't I? He thought with an anxious chew of his lip. The rain continued to hammer down, pattering loudly against the thin plastic of the umbrella, occasionally sloshing onto his shoulder and rolling down his arm to the ground. 

"Shut up, I'm tryin' me best." Paul huffed, rolling his eyes. His breath was visible in the air, spilling from his lips in short puffs; John tried his best not to be so drawn by it, keeping his gaze fixed determinedly ahead. The two continued their awkward stumble-speed walking for the rest of the way, eventually catching up with their friends who had waited for them at the gates, looking soaked to the bone and laughing about something or other, gazing at each other with a fondness that could've made John gag. 

"Took ya both long enough!" George exclaimed when they reached them, the four bustling through the front gates and up the steps to the school building. The clearing besides them was basically deserted, only populated by kids all trying to run inside as quickly as possible. 

"Oh, shut it. You two both look like drowned rats." Paul joked, rolling his eyes. 

"A sexy drowned rat, though!" Ringo struck a pose, causing them to erupt into laughter as they slipped through the front doors.  
Shaking the water off the umbrella onto the floor, John shut it up, giving reason for him and Paul to finally step apart after having had to walk close enough to touch the entire way there. The younger just glanced at him for a second, cheeks darker than they were before, uncertainty glinting in his eyes before he was off without a word. Their first class was music, which all four of them had together; so George, Ringo and John continued on to it together without him.

"What's up with Paul?" Ringo furrowed his brows.

"Eh, just leave him." George shrugged it off, and the two continued to gossip about something or other. John however, stayed silent, unable to get the interaction out of his mind.   
I wonder why Paul's acting so strange.. 

-

"Y'heard Elvis's new single?"   
George tapped his pencil against the desk as he turned to glance at John with an eager grin; the auburn-haired boy looked up from where he had been scribbling down ideas for the song, before nodding and smiling himself.

"I've heard of it, but I haven't actually listened to it yet. Don't Be Cruel, isn't it?" 

"Yeah! We should go down to the record shop later and check it out, eh?" George turned to the other side of him, where Ringo was situated, looking as if he was about to fall asleep - all four of them were sitting in the row second to back, Paul up against the wall, then John, George and Ringo. The former was listening intently to what Mr Martin was talking about, while George and John chattered away, Ringo pretending to pay attention while he was actually dozing off. "What d'ya think, Rings?"

The azure-eyed boy didn't reply, his eyes half shut as his head rested on the desk - George snickered and poked his fingers into his eyelids, making him shoot up in his seat and let out a noise of protest, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"Wake up, idiot!" 

"Ugh, George, you prick. I was about ta fall asleep.." He sighed. "what'd'ya want?"

"Record shop after school? Elvis has a new single."   
George's eyes were glittering with an affection towards Ringo that John noticed, smirking to himself. I guess they're both smitten for each other now.

"Yeah, sounds fab. Paul, you wanna come?" Ringo leant forward in his chair to try and get the raven-haired boy's attention; he shifted in his seat to look at the other three, a brow raised.

"Come where?"

"Going to the record shop to listen to Elvis's new song." 

His eyes lit up with a new motivation; John sometimes forgot that Paul liked music similar to him. "Oh, wicked! Sure." 

Letting out a soft sigh, John turned back to his book to keep working on his song. It had been a while since he'd gone to a record store, and he sorely missed it - Mimi always complained and despised it when he would play rock 'n' roll records over and over again in his room, sometimes trying to copy the guitar chords, usually fumbling and messing up.   
"You'll never get anywhere with that guitar, John," she would always say. As if he would listen to that, anyway. He was surprised she let him buy a guitar in the first place, anyway, let alone send him to a music academy; but it at least showed she was willing to let him pursue what he was passionate about. 

"Why do I feel the way I do.. wait- that's not right.."   
He continued to mutter to himself under his breath as he worked through his set of lyrics, coming up with a basic chord progression. Wish I had my guitar right now, he thought as he rested his head in his hand. He'd been just about to continue, when he paused, feeling as if someone was looking at him - he lifted his head and instinctively turned to the right.  
Paul had been peering over his shoulder, gaze curious as he'd scanned through what John had been working on. When he locked eyes with the other, the raven-haired boy quickly sat back and trained his eyes on the desk, cheeks flaring up quickly. John's heart lurched strangely in his chest and he held his breath, looking quickly away himself, embarrassed. What was he looking over my shoulder for? I don't want him to see my stuff.. what if he didn't like it? 

"Oi, John. What you doin'?"   
He turned to see George peering at his work book curiously; he slapped it shut and pulled it a bit closer to him, not wanting anyone else to see it. It's too personal. I don't want anyone to think I'm a weak poof.   
"C'mon, let me see it!" The younger whined.

"Better keep yer bony, skeletal fingers out of me business, Geo!" He joked, waggling a finger in front of his face. "I've got a lotta murder confessions in here and I'd have ta kill you to ensure yer silence." 

"Ya wouldn't hurt a fly!" George teased. 

"I'll make you wish you were a fly if yer not careful!" He shot back with a sly grin. 

"Whatever." 

-

There wasn't as many people as John thought there would be at the shop. The rain had stopped by the end of the school day, albeit the ground was still damp and water still dribbled down from rooftops and tree leaves. He wished he had worn a jumper. 

"I hope they have it," Ringo furrowed his brows as they bustled their way into the building, the bell above the door jingling as they slipped through the front door - the cashier didn't react, though, a man of about thirty sitting at the front with a magazine in hand, looking bored. There were a few other young adults and teenagers in the shop, perusing the shelves. Twenty Flight Rock by Eddie Cochran was playing through the speakers in the corners of the room.

"Hey, Rings- been a while since we've done some record shopliftin', eh?" John smirked impishly, nudging his friend's shoulder. 

"Shoplift?" George turned to them with furrowed brows, looking shocked.

"Shh, not so loud!" John grabbed his shoulder, steering him further away from the cashier so as to make sure he wouldn't accidentally hear. Paul trailed behind them, not really listening, just gazing at all the records with wide eyes.

"Hmm.. well, let's see." Ringo tapped his chin with a lopsided smile. "Make sure not to get caught like you did last time. We had to book it, remember?"

"I'm the king of shopliftin', mate. That was cause you were standing in the corner trying ta shove it down the front of yer pants for too long and the guy could tell what we were doin'."

"I was trying not ta tear the covers 'cause of me belt!" Ringo protested. 

"What are you guys talkin' about?" Paul came up to them, resting a hand on John's shoulder for a moment before squeezing past them to stand next to George. John's breath hitched for a moment and he let out a cough to conceal his emotions. 

"We're gonna do some stealin'!" George whispered excitedly. It was always humorous to see George be all excited to do something bad. He loves to be a rebel, John thought with a fond snort. 

"What?" Paul gaped, looking terrified. "No way! We'd get caught and arrested or somethin'!"

"We aren't gonna get caught! John and Ringo know what they're doin'." The scrawny boy rolled his eyes with a nudge to his arm. Paul glanced at Ringo and John with a suspicious furrow of his brows for a moment, before relaxing.

"Alright, whatever. What do we do?"

John froze for a moment, surprised that Paul didn't refuse right away and run off. I guess he's starting to change...   
Leaning in a little to keep the secrecy, he relayed their plan to the group. "Just look around for a while, me and Ringo'll find what we want and we quickly take it, then we keep wandering for a while then leave. We can't run or anything, that'll be too obvious." John got a jolt of excitement through his veins at what they were about to do; with that, the group continued on and began to flip through the records in the shelves and boxes. 

"Woah! Chuck Berry! Awesome." Paul muttered under his breath from where he stood a little away from John. He'd pulled out the album One Dozen Berry's and was examining it with a wide grin, eyes glinting with a boyish excitement. John watched him for a moment, chewing his lip nervously; he felt his cheeks heat up again involuntarily. Jesus, John, stop being such an anxious poof and go talk to him! He settled his resolve and scooted a little closer to talk to him.

"Chuck Berry is fab, isn't he?" He gestured to the record as he leant against the shelf. 

"Yeah! Little Richard too, I love him." Paul grinned, glancing up at John briefly before gently sliding the record back into its place.

"'Oooh, I'm gonna rip it up! Ow!'" John mimicked with a subpar Little Richard impression, grinning at Paul in hopes he'd get a positive reaction.

Paul let out a snort, shaking his head with a barely-suppressed smile. "Nutter."

"You love it." John nudged him with a chuckle. 

"Shut it, wouldja? Leave me to keep lookin'."   
He watched as Paul swung around to leave; not without one last glance in his direction, his expression slightly unreadable, and he swore there was the tiniest hint of a smile before he made his way to the other side of the shop.   
He's a weird bloke. John shrugged it off to continue searching through the records. He eventually sought out two copies of Don't Be Cruel, and he let out a little 'yes!' under his breath in triumph - remembering where it was, he pretended to continue looking for a few minutes before he eventually grabbed it and a few others. He tried - as discreetly as he could - to shove it down the front of his pants and throwing his shirt over it to cover it up. He glanced around as nonchalantly as he could for a moment; he let out the tiniest sighs of relief when he spotted the shop owner still skimming through his magazine, not having looked up. 

He then continued to sift through the records for a while longer, Ringo eventually passing him and hissing in his ear "you got them?" to which he nodded. With that, John began to make his merry way out of there, Ringo trailing behind; they waited outside the shop for George and Paul to follow, and they then continued down the street, acting as normal as possible. As soon as they rounded the corner out of sight, John and Ringo revealed the records from under their clothes and held them up with triumphant grins. 

"Yes! We did it! That was so easy." George clapped his hands together excitedly and snatched the records off of Ringo to begin scouring through them. 

"We shouldn't have done that.. what if he comes after us?" Paul glanced nervously behind them.

"Oh, who cares! We got away with it, that's what matters." John waved him off as he examined what he had gotten. "I got.. one copy of Don't Be Cruel, one Everly Brothers, a Diamonds, and one Del-Vikings." 

"Ah! All Ringo'd gotten was one Buddy Holly and Bill Haley and the Comets." George sighed, handing the records back to the other. 

"Eh, at least it's somethin'!" Ringo shrugged.

"Okay, let's split these up..." they shuffled through what they had got and split them up between the four of them. John kept Don't Be Cruel and the Buddy Holly one, Ringo got the Diamonds, George got Bill Haley and the Comets and the Everly Brothers, and Paul got Del-Vikings. 

"Damnit, I wish we hadn't got only one copy of Don't Be Cruel." Paul sighed in disappointment, gazing at his record. "I already have this single at home." 

"C'mon! At least we got records in the first place. We could've accidentally picked up jazz or some shit." Ringo chuckled.

"I gotta get home now, guys- I'll see you tomorrow." George spoke up, gesturing to the bus stop near them; they all said their goodbyes and he strolled off, looking happily at his records as he hopped on the bus that came by and was gone. 

Ringo gently placed his record in his pocket. "Me too. Mum'll get annoyed. You two enjoy yer records!" 

"See ya, Rings. Next time, do a better job!" John called after him, his response being the bird before he was around the corner and out of sight. 

Now it was just Paul and John left, standing there awkwardly on the street; Paul was the first to speak.

"Bye, John. Um.." Paul left his mouth open for a second, looking as if he was going to say something, before he just fell silent and turned to walk away.

"Wait!" John held out a hand, gently touching his arm for a second before pulling back. I should give him the Elvis one. To make up for us being idiots today. 

"Yeah?" The raven-haired boy twisted around to look at him, gazing at him with a confused expression. "What is it?"

"Uh-" John began, pulling out his record and holding it out in front of him; his heart was beating erratically in his chest and he tried to ignore the way his palms started to sweat a little. What if he thinks I'm a weirdo or soft?  
"Trade the Del-Vikings for the Elvis one?" 

Paul blinked at him for a moment, shock evident in his slightly parted lips and wide eyes - eventually he held out his record and they swapped. He gazed down at the one John had given him with an unreadable look. 

"You'd really give this to me, John?" He glanced back up at him with a growing smile. There was a new warmth sparking in his eyes when he looked at him and John's stomach heaved again with a fluttery feeling that was familiar. Oh god.. John, don't fuck up this new friendship. You can't start fancying this prick, nothing'll be gained!

"Yeah, I mean. You might as well have it." John shrugged, pretending to be nonchalant and shoving his hands into his pockets. "Consider it an early Christmas present." 

"It's September." Paul furrowed his brows at him.

"Yeah, it's an early Christmas present."

"Whatever. See you later." Paul chuckled, turning to walk away; John watched him for a bit, trying not to let his thoughts run wild, when he paused and turned to look at him again. "And.. thanks. Seems yer a bit more of a soft bastard than I thought."

"Tell anyone this and I'll bash ya 'til next Thursday." John joked, holding his fist somewhat threateningly in front of him before walking away.

"No promises!" 

As John made his way home, he couldn't help but dwell over what had just happened. I don't know what to do. It seems like we're becoming friends and I'm happy for that, but.. I have these other feelings and i can't have them. Paul would never feel the same, it's obvious. I have to try to rid them or something... it was easier with Stu because we were mainly experimenting and he was okay with it, but Paul.. I can't take chances. I need a distraction, something- anything. We've already had such a rocky relationship, starting to fancy him will just ruin everything. And we have mutual friends- what would happen then? It would be so awkward. Already it was for ages because we couldn't be around each other without arguing. Then it'll just be even worse because Paul won't even stand to look at me...


	16. 16 ;; ditching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AAA sorry for the late update again but eee theyre getting along :) !!

A long, droning groan of protest emitted from the school bathroom door as John slipped through the threshold into the hallway, kids flitting back and forth around him. He lifted a hand to wipe the sweat off his forehead, adjusting his pants to make sure they were fully done up before turning to the person next to him; he smiled at the girl - a doll-eyed brunette, gazing back at him with a shy grin of her own, eyelashes casting shadows across her freckled cheeks - and the pair shared a brief kiss, the auburn-haired boy resting a hand on the small of her back.

"Thanks, love. I'll see you again sometime, I hope?" He gazed down at her from half-lidded eyes and a suave smirk (well, as suave as he could when his mind was in a perpetual conflictive turmoil). This caused her - was Janet the name? He was pretty sure it was - to duck her head and train her eyes on the ground for a moment, hiding her grin behind her hand with cheeks dusted a healthy pink.

"I'd like that, John." She pressed her lips to his once last time, sending a parting glance his way as she pulled away and turned to walk off. He watched her go, the smile he had dissolving quickly; the thrilling high he'd usually get from a good shag faded faster than it usually did, leaving him to his thoughts once again as he spun around to make his way to the cafeteria to try and find his friends. She had been great, and seemed to enjoy it too - but he couldn't seem to get out of his own head. These were momentary distractions from a much larger issue that was beginning to make itself present.

He quickly shook his head; shut it. I'm not gonna think about it. I just had a good shag, nothing else.   
With that, he pushed through the cafeteria doors, scanning across the room until eventually he spotted George, Ringo and Paul, sitting at a table in the far corner and gabbling amongst themselves. He chuckled fondly when he saw two sandwiches and a biscuit on George's tray, Ringo with nothing on his. He's gone soft, he has.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he began to make his way over there, dodging kids ambling about every which way around him. He pointedly ignored Pete, Kevin, and the rest of the group that he used to be friends with when they stared at him from across the room. He eventually reached the table; he saw Paul's gaze dart to him out of the corner of his eye, but he refused to look at him as he settled beside Ringo.

"Oi, John! Was wonderin' where you w-" His azure-eyed friend started before quickly cutting himself off, brows furrowing as his gaze trained on his neck. Oh, John thought, feeling his cheeks flush a little. He adjusted his collar to hide them.

A large grin grew on George's face. "Love bites, eh? Looks like John was havin' a grand ol' time!" He reached out to poke them, causing John to shove his hand away with a playful glare.

"Yeah, whatever. She was pretty good. Janet, or somethin', I think." His stomach rumbled slightly at the sight of George's food. His gaze flitted to Paul for a moment, and what he saw made his chest tighten a little in an odd way - his gaze was uncharacteristically dark and his movements were stiff as he fiddled with some pasta, though it seemed everything else about him was normal. His gaze was fixed on his food, not reacting or even seemingly noticing when John looked at him. I wonder what's wrong with him.

"Ugh, 'm bored! I don't wanna sit through an hour of history." Ringo groaned, bringing his attention away from the droopy-eyed boy and back to his other friends. John chuckled, stealing a sip from his juice - ignoring his feeble protests - before slamming it on the table and letting out a loud burp.

"Ew!" George dissolved into laughter, Ringo snatching back his juice with a challenging glare.

"Oh, yeah? Watch this." He downed half of it in one gulp and promptly let out an even louder belch right in John's ear, making him shrink away and burst into giggles, punching his arm lightly. Paul watched on, looking slightly disgusted but with a barely-hidden humorous glint in his eyes.

"Now you've made it a competition!" George declared, seizing the drink for himself and taking two long gulps - they stared with bated breath for the reaction, and when he let out a pathetic little noise (it couldn't really be considered a burp), all of them laughed even harder, even Paul, now.

"Congrats, Geo! Ya set the world record for the worst burp-er." The ebony-haired boy slapped him on the back with a grin.

"I tried, okay!-" He began, but was cut off when it suddenly came out, loud enough to even catch the attention of people around them, making the four stare wide eyed for a moment, having not expected it. They laughed even more, John's stomach aching a little now with the effort, Ringo teary-eyed; eventually they calmed down after a few seconds, deciding to get up and leave the cafeteria. John brushed himself off as he stood up, making sure his hickeys were still hidden in case they came across teachers before they began to weave their way to the exit.

"I was not expectin' that." Paul snickered, chomping down the last of his pasta before dumping the plastic bowl in a nearby rubbish bin as they went.

"You doubtin' me burpin' prowess?" George puffed out his chest. "Fool! I smite thee!" (It was very strange to hear George try to pull off a posh, old-fashioned accent and fail due to his thick Scouse drawl, John noticed.) He then pulled him into a headlock and ran his knuckles across his scalp harshly, causing him to let out a squeal and try to wiggle out of his grasp. Paul was able to do so when he jabbed his side with his fingers, though, making George retreat with a cry of protest.

"I win! You owe me a coke now."

"Ugh. Whatever." George rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "Only 'cause you know me weak spots."

"Still means I won!"

John listened to their bickering with a small smile as they ambled through the hallways. He could agree with what Ringo said - he wasn't feeling that eager to sit through the last few hours of school. So he turned to the very next thing he could think of to do instead. 

"Lads, we should just ditch and go to George's place! You said yer parents are away for a while, right?" He turned to the younger boy.

"Yeah! We can get fish and chips on the way there." He brightened with a grin.

"'m down for it, sure." Ringo shrugged. They turned to Paul to see what he thought.

"I dunno about that.." The boy in question chewed on his lip anxiously. "da'll be real upset if I don't keep up with school."

"Oh, come on! One day won't hurt! It's not like you do it all that much, anyroad." Ringo nudged him. John decided not to mention the fact that they'd ditched several times and they hadn't even reached mid-term yet. Jim seemed like a man to worry about that kind of stuff; like Mimi, really. Only that John didn't listen to her. "I'll pay."

Paul chuckled a little, shaking his head in what seemed like surrender. "Alright, alright. Let's go." John felt a strange jolt in his stomach at the thought of Paul joining them. He spun around and led the group out the school, definitely not walking ahead as an excuse to not look at Paul and stop himself from acting awkward and losing his cool. It was frigid that day when they snuck off the campus, as usual; clouds seemed to permanently obscure the sky now, gradually dissolving to darker colours in the distance, meaning it was going to rain again soon. John held his stained, ragged blazer closer to his frame to protect himself from the icy wind, watching the leaves kick up and twirl in the wind like it was some kind of dance; George and Ringo droned on about something or other as they trekked down the street, but he wasn't really paying attention.

He turned around to wait for the others to catch up, but he hadn't realised how close Paul was walking to him and they bumped into each other, causing them to jump away in slight shock. John felt his heart jolt foolishly and his cheeks go beet red, skin tingling at the feeling; the other was staring at him with a similarly shocked expression, cheeks flushed pink himself (though he couldn't tell if it was because of the cold or from what just happened).

"Sorry, mate," he spat out quickly before hurrying on, keeping his gaze fixed determinedly on the ground. Stop being such a bumbling fucking idiot every time he comes near you! He gritted his teeth.

By the time they'd gotten to the fish and chip shop and walked out with their food, he was able to properly collect his thoughts and focussed on eating.

"Yeah, 's like I said. They never know it 'til it hits them."   
He caught the tail-end of George and Ringo's conversation; George had been the one to say that, taking a large bite of his fish afterwards, cradling his box of food as if it was a newborn baby. It was certainly an amusing sight.

"Anyways, did you guys bring your records that we got?" Ringo turned to the rest of the group with a quirk of his brow.

"Oh, yeah. I haven't listened to it yet, but 'm itchin' to." Paul popped another chip in his mouth, gaze flitting to John for a moment - the memory of swapping their records arose in John's mind and he swallowed nervously - before he looked back at George. "What about you lads?"

"Neither." The dark-eyed boy shrugged, sipping his milkshake.

"Mimi'll complain about it for the next week if I play it even once." John chuckled, taking on an impression of his aunt. "'Oh, John, it's just so loud and noisy! It's certainly not real music. Tchaikovsky is the way to go!'" All of them burst into laughter at that, and he couldn't help but feel a euphoric sense of joy when he saw Paul chuckling too, causing him to grin uncontrollably. 

"Isn't she secretly hopin' that by sendin' you to a music school that you'll suddenly become a classical prodigy or somethin'?" Ringo joked.

"Probably. Don't even know why she still sends me there," he chuckled. "it's not like 'm a stellar student."

They'd finally reached George's house; bustling inside, John opted to flop down on the couch as he finished the last of his food, having scoffed it down as fast as possible. The rest of them settled on the floor next to him, still finishing their own food, and he let his head roll back to stare at the ceiling, blurry without his glasses. I just seem to lose all courage every time I'm near Paul. Not a while ago we were arguing about everything under the sun. Now it's so awkward and my overwhelming... feelings, make it hard to even look at him sometimes. I hate it so much. Why can't I just be normal?

"What's got you broodin', eh, Lennon?" Ringo poked his shin with a cheeky grin. "Usually you'd be happy as a lark when we're ditching school."

"Oh- nothin'. Just.. thinkin'." He shook his head quickly, flashing a fake smile as he leant forward, picking up his Del-Vikings record from beside him and examining it. He'd listened to Come Go With Me quite a few times before, and he considered it one of his favourites. 

"You think now? I'm impressed." Paul quipped with a smirk; John lifted his head to look at him with a raise of his brows, devilish grin overtaking his features as he slowly got to his feet.

"Ah, but you! The great McCartney! The musical maestro, the charmer of birds, thinking comes easy to you, doesn't it?" He settled down across from him on the floor in front of the coffee table, placing his elbow on it and holding his hand out in invitation. "Well, I'm thinkin' I'd like to challenge you to arm wrestle! See if you got any muscles, hm?" 

"Oh, and you do?" Paul shot back with a delighted twinkle in his eye before placing his own arm on the table, entwining their hands as they got ready to wrestle. John tried not to think about the way his skin tingled and shivered at his touch as if he was on fire, instead beginning to bunch his muscles with a determined grit of his teeth; I'm so gonna win, he thought smugly.

"Ooh! Here we go, lads!" George exclaimed, him and Ringo gathering around them excitedly to watch and commentate as if they were reporters watching a football game. "How much you bet John is gonna win?"

"John is weakling! He's so gonna lose." Ringo scoffed.

"Ready?" Paul gazed at him intensely. "Three, two.. one-" And the game began. John had the upper hand at first, pushing so hard that Paul's hand nearly smacked the table - but the boy burst into action with surprising strength, letting out a grunt as they began to tip to the other side. John let out a protesting squeak, determined not to be shown up by someone younger than him whatsoever.

"No, no!" He cried out as Paul continued to overpower him, muscles straining with the effort of keeping it up; the raven-haired boy began to let out little snickers, setting John laughing and causing their grips to loosen - he hated it when someone else would laugh when they were fighting, because it always seemed to make you lose all your strength and become weak, no matter how hard you tried. But this seemed advantageous to him, and he gained the upper hand once again and gathered the last of his strength to overpower Paul, winning the game.

"No! That's so unfair!" Paul shrieked with laughter, throwing his head back as the sound that seemed music to John's ears spilled from his lips, causing all three of them to join in (they didn't even notice that they hadn't let go of each other's hands the entire time). "I can't help that I was laughin'!"

"Haha, loser!" John grinned through his snickers, poking the other's cheek with an impish, childish nature. "You shouldn't've lost yer concentration!"

"Shut up, dickhead!" Paul giggled, attempting to shoot him a glare - it looked absurd, however, because he couldn't seem to mask his laughter, creating this shrewd look, as if he needed to take a shit all of a sudden, and John howled even louder.

"Your face! You look so fuckin' stupid!" Tears began to spring in his eyes and he rubbed them away with a cough, chest and stomach aching from laughter. 

"'m tryin' to be serious here!" Paul protested feebly as he grinned back at him, slowly calming down until they'd fallen into a comfortable silence, catching their breath.

"Alright, now that you two've had yer big bondin' moment, I wanna go against John." George broke it with a knowing smirk Paul's way; John noticed the way the droopy-eyed boy's cheeks flushed a little and he glared George down before moving out of the way, letting go of John's hand and sitting up on the couch away from him, gaze fixed on his lap. He furrowed his brows in slight confusion, but brushed it off, not wanting to intrude. I'm sure it was nothing.   
With that, he turned to George and smirked, ready to play.

\--

The sun was beginning its climb into the horizon, leaving the deep purple-orange stained sky behind when John leant his arms on George's front porch, taking a long, relished drag of his cigarette he'd just lit and expelling the smoke into the air, watching it slowly dissolve into nothingness, as if nothing had been there at all. Pulling his glasses from his pocket, he slid them on, wishing to finally see things clearly for a moment; when his vision focussed, he noticed the sun seemed almost like a ball of fire. Which it kind of was, technically.   
Ringo had gone home about half an hour ago, leaving George, Paul and John by themselves. Their not-so-graceful host went to go take a piss, and now John was standing outside by himself. He figured Paul was probably still inside. He ended up winning against George in the arm wrestle fight and they'd listened to their records and danced around stupidly - especially George - before settling down to talk and partake in a few more playful fights. 

He'd been taking another drag when there was a creak, footsteps coming closer to him; he turned to see who it was, and saw Paul coming to stand about a metre away from him, leaning against the railing. He sent a greeting nod his way before gazing out to the street. John blinked, taking another puff and twirling the cigarette in his hands, feeling a little nervous again, but he managed to hide it well. 

"Thanks.. by the way." Paul began, turning to look at him with a small smile. 

"For what?" John furrowed his brows, bewildered.

"The record. I know you probably wanted to keep it."

"'s no bother. The King is gear." He shrugged, acting as nonchalant as possible as he took another drag. He noticed the way Paul didn't seem as appalled by the fact that he was smoking as he usually was. Pulling his jacket a little closer to his body, he let out a sigh, a shiver trickling down his spine at the chill. 

"Y'know, I wanna say-" The younger began, tongue darting out to lick his plump lips as his fingers tapped out some unnamed melody on the wooden banisters of George's front porch. He seemed uncertain; it unnerved John a little. Someone who seemed to be so sure of himself. "that yer alright. Despite all the.. arguments we had." 

He blinked at him, a strange soft feeling settling in his chest for a moment as he let out a small scoff. "Yeah. I was a prick." 

"You were." Paul chuckled a little.

"It's not like you weren't either, though, mate." John raised an eyebrow. "You can be'n arsehole as much as the next guy."

His eyes flashed with irritation for a moment, lip curling - but his anger seemed gone in a flash and he just shook his head, letting out a sigh of what looked like admission.  
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I guess we just.. misjudged each other."

"I guess we did." He agreed, taking another puff of his cigarette; their eyes locked gazes and they stared for a long time. John felt himself falling into some strange trance, the sounds and sights of the night falling on deaf ears and eyes, leaving nothing but some kind of empty space, the only things taking up any being him and Paul. Seeing him in such high definition sent his heartbeat racing and cheeks flaming deep red, not even realising that they were slowly inching closer together, just transfixed on each others' eyes - almond-shaped hazel into droopy green flecked with brown. It felt like.. they were meant to look at each other. Like they were meant to stare into each others' eyes as if it was they were the window to the soul (some people say they are, and it's hard not to agree sometimes to John), the only thing they were able to focus on. 

"Oi! John, P-" A familiar drawling voice - though now considered intrusive - slashed into the silence and tore them from their totally bizarre staring session. John just realised they were only inches apart now (it would've taken only half a step to connect their lips, but who's thinking about that?) and they leapt apart with expressions that mimicked deer in headlights. 

George leant against the doorway, staring at them in bewilderment and slight unease. "Did I interrupt somethin'?"

"Um- n-no, all good.." Paul started immediately, cheeks coloured a quite deep pink and wide-eyed gaze fixed on the floor; he sent a quick, obviously fake, smile his best friend's way and moved to go past him, presumably to get his things, muttering half to himself as he went. "yeah, nothing.."

The lanky boy turned to John with a grin, flashing his sharp canines. "You guys are really gettin' along today, huh?" 

"Heh, right." John chuckled, chewing on the inside of his cheek with barely suppressed anxiety. George had nearly caught us... doing- well, whatever the hell it was we were doing! Who knows what could've happened? What even was that, anyway? It was like we almost kissed or something! John took a shaky last drag of his cigarette and flicked it to the ground, grinding it to dust with his heel. It seemed Paul was shaken up as well, and it made him feel a bit better in the fact that he wasn't the only one who experienced it. 

"'ve got to go home, now, George. I'll, uh- see you later." Paul spoke when he came out of the house, bag slung over his back, still keeping his apprehensive gaze on the ground.   
He then patted his friend on the back in parting and walked past them - John's gaze darted to the Don't Be Cruel record he had in hand - before pausing, turning to look back at John for a moment. "S.. um, bye, John." He nodded to him before spinning around and trudging away, disappearing down the street; the almond-eyed boy watched his departing figure.

"Me too, Mimi'll have me hide." John chuckled a little, turning to George and ruffling his hair - the younger squirmed away with a chuckle, whacking him on the arm.

"Alright, see ya tomorrow." 

He gathered his things and said his last goodbyes before beginning his trek home, shakily lighting another cigarette with Paul's eyes imprinted in his mind.


	17. 17 ;; rebellion

The sound of kids laughing and chattering about whatever it is teenagers usually talk about filled John's ears as he made his way past the front gates of Quarrybank Music Academy, hand shoved in pockets as he watched the bus pull up to pick up students after school. It was cold and brisk once again, the months of winter drawing ever near; though not as chilly as it was in the morning. Glancing up, he gazed at the clouded sky, an ivory blanket tinged with grey. He had been terribly bored that Thursday - Ringo had gotten sick and wasn't at school, and he didn't see George or Paul that much either except for at lunch, since they didn't share many classes that day. It was still strange sometimes that he was no longer friends with Pete and the rest of that group. He couldn't believe it was over that fast. But, it wasn't like he was complaining; he never really felt close to them, anyway. It was just nerve-wracking that Stuart had dirt on him, technically, because they had experimented a few things together. He could trust him not to say anything, though. It would make him look bad too.

Striking up a cigarette, he glanced around one last time to see if Paul or George were around and when he didn't spot them anywhere, he spun around to begin his trip home. He'd only gotten a few metres before a familiar voice called his name, a flurry of footsteps nearing closer until they stopped next to him. He blinked at Paul from his myopic eyes, furrowing his brows in confusion. Where did he come from?

"Where'd you come from?" He voiced his thought, taking another puff of his cigarette. The younger boy rolled his eyes, hands shoved in his pockets; John again noticed the way his hair - that looked as if it was made of strokes of ebony ink from an artist's hand to him - stood out against his pallid skin, only his cheeks and the tip of his upturned nose coloured a pink from the cold. He was wearing a grey jumper along with the rest of his school uniform, apparently a new staple due to the cold weather, along with a thick black scarf. His guitar case was strapped to his back.

"I was right there, idiot! You looked right past me. You really are blind, aren't ya?" Paul chuckled, beginning to walk alongside him. He was right. When he had looked through the crowd for Paul, he hadn't seen much more than blurry figures of kids, no features visible.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm not gonna look like a nerd just 'cause me eyesight is shit. I can still do stuff just fine." 

"And yer about five seconds away from slamming into a pole because you can only see a few centimetres in front of you." He raised a knowing eyebrow, nudging him with his shoulder as they walked. 

John shot a glare to the other boy, but it didn't hold any real anger in it; instead he just turned back to him with a questioning look.   
"What you doin' walkin' with me, anyroad? Shouldn't you be goin' home?"

Paul was silent for a few seconds, and he saw the boys' expression begin to transform from casual to angry, brows knotted and lip curled as he kicked at a nearby loose rock. What happened? John thought, curiosity sparking in his mind.

"Yeah.. that. Look, can I stay at your place for today?" He turned to John with a pleading glint in his eyes. "My da' was a dickhead about.. me ditchin' school and stuff and I.. I might've-" He cut himself off.

"What?" John grew more eager to know what it was, now, flicking his cigarette to the ground and stomping it out with his heel before they continued to walk. "I can't imagine that 'goody-two-shoes McCartney' would've said anythin' like 'go fuck yerself' or somethin' of that sort. No way!" 

"Shut yer stupid mouth, Lennon." Paul glared, turning away and crossing his arms with a petulant sniff. "And as a matter of fact, I did. And I ran out on him after that before he could start to yell at me or anythin'."

John gaped for a few seconds before an excited grin took over his face. "Did you really?" 

"Yeah," Paul smirked a little. "first time I ever swore at my da'."

The almond-eyed boy gasped. "I've taught you well, my son!" He pulled him into a hug, pretending to wipe away imaginary tears and whacking the younger on the back, making him stumble a little and shove him away with a giggle, rolling his eyes once again.

"Whatever, Lennon." He was silent for a few seconds, before realising he was still clutching onto John's arm, causing him to quickly let go with a cough, gaze diverting to the ground. His arm tingled strangely afterwards, feeling the imprint of Paul's hand on it still persistently present. "Anyroad, I just want to avoid his impending wrath for a bit. So, can I stay?"

"No worries, mate. 've had to crash at a friend's to avoid Mimi too many times ta count." John chuckled. Paul smiled too, glancing up at him for a moment; their gazes locked together and he was faintly reminded of what had happened a few days ago on George's front porch. His heartbeat picked up again, cheeks flushing beet red as he subconsciously licked his thin lips. Their trance was broken, however.

"Oi, watch where you're goin', prick!" 

John leapt back in slight shock, spinning around to look at the tall, stern man that he'd just slammed into. 

"Stupid kids, thinkin' they're tough stuff." The man continued to glare down at him from his crooked, thin nose, and John blinked up at him, looking unamused, of course needing to make a comeback.

"Well, I'm sorry mister stick bug lookalike. Let me kiss the fuckin' ground you walk on to show how sorry I am!" He dropped to his knees, pretending to kiss the footpath at the man's feet; he grinned, heart jumping wildly in his chest, when he heard Paul burst into laughter.

"You better get outta here before I pound ya!" 

This caused him to leap to his feet, grinning and winking at passersby who had stopped and stared at the whole ordeal as he dashed away - he grabbed Paul's wrist to tug him along with him as they rounded the corner and ran out of sight. He heard some faint swears directed his way before it was gone, the two collapsing into laughter as they halted to catch their breath. 

"His face was fuckin' hilarious!" Paul exclaimed, leaning on his knees as he grinned up at John, still giggling a little. He adjusted his guitar cases' strap before straightening.

"I know, right! The connoisseur of comedy, I am." He leant on a nearby parked car to emphasise his point, but jumped away with a yelp when he set off the alarm that started to blare through the street; he chuckled sheepishly and yelled out a 'sorry!' to the people who sent glares his way from the other side of the road. 

"You geek." Paul laughed again, grabbing his shoulder and steering him back down the street for the last leg of their trip to John's. A fleeting feeling of joy coursed through his veins; it seemed the first half of their relationship where they were at each others' throats was at a proper end now. It made him feel more elated than he'd really felt in a long time.

"Who's talkin', again?" John turned to the younger with a raise of his eyebrows. He got an indignant glare in response. With that, the pair fell into a somewhat comfortable silence as they reached John's street, the older boy fumbling with his keys before opening up the front door, making their way inside.

"John?" He heard Mimi's voice call from the kitchen and he peered through the archway to spot her at the sink, seemingly in the middle of washing dishes - though now she was leaning against it, one hand on her hip as she scrutinized him. Her expression changed to an even more stern one when Paul popped out from behind him. 

"Hey, Mimi. You've met Paul before." John gestured to the younger boy before tugging on his wrist again for them to make their way up the stairs to his room.

"Hello, Mrs. Smith. How do you do?" Paul lingered for a moment, putting on his best 'charming voice' and smiling politely at his aunt. John groaned inwardly, wondering why he would even try to get into Mimi's good books when it was next to impossible.

"I'm alright, thank you." Her expression didn't change in the slightest, and he wondered if she had even moved her lips when she spoke.

"We'll be goin' now." John cut in with an exaggerated smile and wave, clutching Paul's wrist and tugging him - more firmly, this time - up the stairs to his room.

"Ow! Let go." Paul pouted, wriggling his hand from the other's grip. 

"It's funny to see you become a polite little boy when you talk to me aunt." John chuckled as he burst into his bedroom, the younger trailing after him.

"Shut it." Paul spun around on his feet, gazing around him at the room with a hint of wonder; John watched him with amusement as he began to take off his shoes and tie, dumping them by his bedroom door. "Huh. Haven't been here since the party."

"Ugh, don't remind me. That party was a bloody disaster." He rolled his eyes as he made his way past him to collapse on his bed, gazing up at the ceiling with a content sigh. 

"It feels like it was months ago, now." The droopy-eyed boy began to take off his guitar case strapped to him, shoes as well, sitting gently on the bed beside him as he did so. John couldn't help but watch the muscles in his back flex as he stripped off his blazer and scarf, prominent shoulder blades casting shadows across the fabric of his jumper, but quickly redirected his gaze to the ceiling again when Paul turned to look at him. 

"So much has changed since then." John shrugged idly. "I guess that's why."

"Yeah.. it has." Paul continued to stare at him for a few seconds before looking back at John's messy desk. "I never thought I'd.. y'know, be here again. Sober and willingly."

"Ah." John pressed his tongue into the side of his cheek, chuckling a little. "I didn't think you'd ever ask me if you could crash here."

"I know it's mad." The younger sighed. "Just that.. George had stuff to do for some family member's birthday or somethin', and I didn't really have anywhere else to go." 

"'s alright, mate. We're.. we're mates, right?" He slowly sat up, gazing at Paul earnestly. "We can be friends? After everythin'?"

He didn't get a reply for a few seconds. With each passing moment, John grew more and more anxious - were they not really friends? Did Paul really not want to hang out with him in spite of their previous relationship? He wouldn't blame him if that was the truth, of course.. but it still hurt.

"Yeah." Paul turned to him with the tiniest of smiles, something unreadable flashing within those round eyes that haunted John's thoughts. "Sure." 

John bit his lip to hide his joyful beam that threatened to overtake his face. He quickly got to his feet, hiding his face away from the other as he scanned the room for his guitar - eventually he found it in the corner of the room and picked it up, turning around and holding it in Paul's view with a wiggle of his brows. 

"Guitar time?"

Paul practically lit up, causing John to do so as well.  
"Alright, now we're talkin'!" 

With that, John hopped eagerly onto the bed beside Paul, the mattress bouncing slightly beneath them while the other settled his own guitar in his lap, beginning to fiddle with the strings to make sure they were in tune. It felt normal for them to do this.. like it was routine. He had no other friends that he could sit and just play guitar with; Ringo wasn't such a guitar person, more percussion, and his old friends weren't really musical like he was. They liked music, yes, but not like John did. He breathed music. Lived it. And it seemed Paul shared the same love for it as he did. 

"Have you been workin' on any new songs lately?" Paul glanced up at him as he continued to fiddle with the strings of his guitar. 

John hesitated for a moment, glancing to his desk where the papers he'd written on with the lyrics for the song he'd been working on lay. It wouldn't hurt to show him, even if they were.. about him, technically. But he will never know, of course. 

"Um- yeah." He left his guitar on the bed and stood up, making his way to his desk to collect up the papers with the chords and notes written down.

"Can I hear it?"

John hesitated again, before shrugging, taking the papers with him and relaxing back on the bed, one leg hanging off the edge of the bed. Placing the notes out before himself to read, he then pulled his thick-rimmed glasses from his pocket and slipped them onto his nose, blinking slightly as the world became clear and defined once again; he placed the guitar in his lap and scanned through the chords, playing a few experimental notes before getting ready to do the full song. Well, as much as he'd worked on so far, anyway. 

He then began to strum the somewhat melancholic opening chords, refusing to look at Paul for fear of breaking his calm resolve, instead just focussing on the papers below him. Parting his lips, he began to sing;

"I get high when I see you go by.." His voice cracked a little bit at the beginning, but he just shoved it down and continued to sing. "my oh my-"

"When you sigh, my-my inside just flies.. butterflies," He grew more confident with each passing moment, finally lifting his head to make eye contact with Paul as he sang; he noticed that the younger's cheeks had reddened and his lips were parted ever so slightly, barely blinking as he stared at John with an intensity that almost made his fingers slip and lose their place while he strummed. 

"Why am I so shy when I'm beside you?"

Those lyrics for meant for Paul. About John's growing feelings for him.. something that was illegal, wrong, something he'd felt before. But these feelings for Paul were different. He felt there was something different about it. He was scared, yes, of what might happen, and what Paul might do if he ever found out about it, if John somehow confessed or let slip; though he felt a kind of freedom. A freedom with Paul. Their relationship was different than him and Stu's or anyone else - there was some kind of deeper connection there that was beginning to take form. Their past was behind them, and it seemed they were going to be friends after all. And John felt that it was okay if they only stayed friends. He knew that Paul would probably never feel the same about him, anyway; he was content with being a friend for now. It was enough.   
With that, he finished the song.

"Wow.. that was-" Paul licked his plump lips, finally breaking the gaze they'd shared and looking at his lap. "beautiful. It really was."

"Sappy as hell, I know." John tapped a finger against the side of his guitar, feeling his cheeks heat up with embarrassment as he adjusted his glasses. "Sound like a bloody bird, don't I?"

Paul chuckled. "Maybe."

Not replying, John just stood up, leaving his instrument on the bed as he stared out the window by his desk; itching for a cigarette, he pulled the packet out from his pocket and slipped one out, sticking it between his lips. Lighting it up, he took a long puff, the silence between them deafening until eventually the younger spoke.

"But it's a good sappy, by the way. I really like it." 

He heard him shifting but didn't turn to look.

"Is it about someone?"

John stiffened for a moment, hand frozen in front of his lips, having been about to take another drag, before he relaxed with a sigh.

"Yeah." He took another puff. He noticed that Paul seemed again not to be bothered by his smoking. 

"Am I allowed to know who?" 

John chuckled quietly, shaking his head. "Not a chance, mate. We only just started becomin' friends after arguing every two seconds; don't push yer luck." 

Paul laughed as well. "Alright, alright. Keep yer knickers on." 

They fell into silence again, John just slowly dragging away on his cigarette, smoke beginning to fill the room, Paul plucking a few random notes every now and again from the bed. He could feel a slight tension building, air in the room thickening as he was acutely aware of how much space was between them. It was beginning to choke him up, feeling Paul's eyes boring into the side of his head intensely as he remained determinedly staring out the window onto the street. His skin tingled strangely again, and he tried to ignore the way the hairs stood on the back of his neck when he heard Paul get up, slow footsteps coming closer to him.

"Can I have a cig?" Paul's honeyed, low voice was right next to his ear, John shivering involuntarily as his stomach lurched, heart racing again. He turned to look at him, and almost stepped back when he saw how close he was, Paul staring at him again from those stupidly beautiful eyes of his. There was only a few inches between their faces.

"What? Thought you hated smokin'." His voice came out a little hoarse, and he quickly coughed to cover it up. God, you're killing me, Paul.. he thought as he chewed the inside of his cheek in anxiety. Why can't you just stand a little further away? 

"Yeah, well. I just wanna try it." 

"I've influenced you badly, haven't I?" John chuckled lowly, picking out a fresh cig from the packet and handing it to Paul; the boy took it and put it between his lips (John's eyes were led to those plump lips again, and he swallowed nervously, feeling his cheeks flame up again) before pausing, looking expectant for something. 

"Light it up, please?" His voice was so quiet it could've been a whisper. John didn't want this strange, silent trance that they'd fallen into, standing only inches apart, to end anytime soon. 

"Oh- right." He shook his head a little to clear his quickly muddying thoughts, focussing on the lighter as he brought it to Paul's cigarette, refusing to stare at his lips again for fear of giving himself away.   
With that, the boy took a puff, and of course their shared moment ended too soon. 

Paul stepped back and fell into a fit of coughing, leaning over the desk as he did so, bringing the crook of his elbow up to his face to mask it. John whacked him lightly on the back, watching him in concern. 

"'s alright, mate. Everyone coughs the first time." He chuckled a little as Paul straightened, clearing his throat and swallowing harshly, looking a little pained.

"How the hell do people smoke this shit?"   
Paul furrowed his brows, perplexed, though took another drag once he had calmed down, only coughing a little bit that time.

"You get used to it after the second time or so." John shrugged, taking a long drag of his own. 

"Yeah, probably." The boy fell back onto John's bed, gazing up at the ceiling as he determinedly continued to smoke. The almond-eyed boy stayed where he was, feeling an empty sense of disappointment now that the strange encounter they'd had was gone, vanished like smoke in the air. Why had Paul stood so close? His heartbeat continued to race, palms sweating slightly as the feeling of Paul's breath billowing onto his ear continued to caress it even after he was long gone. God, I am so fucking doomed. 

"Aye- John?" Paul spoke up eventually. 

"Yeah?" John flopped onto the bed next to him, staring up at the ceiling as he took another drag.

"Thanks for lettin' me stay here. I didn't think you'd let me at first.. thought you woulda told me to up meself." 

"I did consider that.." John pretended to think, grinning when Paul whacked his arm. "no problem, though. Better than loungin' about here by meself." 

The other boy chuckled a little before they fell into another bout of silence. This time, it was more comfortable, just the two of them lying there, expelling smoke into the air of John's bedroom, nothing needed to say. John wouldn't forget this night anytime soon.

-

"Hey, John."  
Paul spun around on his heels, standing by John's record player as he fiddled with the needle, their song having just ended; the almond-eyed boy ran a hand through his mousy locks before lifting his head to make eye contact with Paul, guitar resting in his lap, cigarettes smoked long ago. The room was dark now due to the sun having set, illuminated only by a dim lamp on John's desk he'd turned on about half an hour ago. Mimi had gotten home from doing some errands not ten minutes ago, and Paul hid under the bed while John lied to her about his friend having gone home. 

"Yeah? What's up? The record player's dingy or somethin'?" He tilted his head, gazing at Paul through his large glasses. He noticed the way the younger's droopy eyes glinted with an orange spark from the lamp, skin washed with a warm colour, neat composure abandoned and hairstyle gone a little awry, hair sticking up in all different directions. And he could see that the mental walls Paul had always put up had been down for most of the night, leaving him open and free - it was only now that he could see the boy stiffening again, gaze no longer warm as he crossed his arms. John blinked, concern growing in his mind.

"I gotta go now. I can't hide from da' forever, and I'd probably worry him if I stayed away for much longer.." 

John furrowed his brows, disappointment slamming into him like an oncoming train as he remembered that Paul needed to go home. His mouth opened and closed for a moment, the word 'stay' hanging on the tip of his tongue, before he decided better of it.

"Alright. You run off to daddy now."   
He dodged the loose crumpled ball of paper chucked at him with a laugh. 

Paul smiled back before beginning to gather his things, packing his guitar into his case and strapping it to his back, slipping his shoes back on his feet. John watched him from his spot, one leg crossed over the other as he did so. He longed for Paul to stay a bit longer, continuing to just listen to records or play guitar together, but he knew it wouldn't be able to last forever. 

He sat up when Paul opened the window above his desk, lodging one leg outside as he began to crawl through.

"Wait-" John started, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. His insecurities were beginning to arise again, and he had to ask one last question to confirm. "are we friends now?"

Paul paused, turning to look at him with amusement glinting in his eyes, raising an arched brow.   
"Yeah, I told you before."

John chewed on his bottom lip, directing his gaze to his lap, not replying. If he'd been looking at Paul, he would've seen the way his gaze softened, smiling a little in sympathy, seemingly knowing what he was thinking.

"We are, John. Don't worry. What happened between us is in the past." 

John lifted his head to look at him, smiling a little, feeling reassured. Curse my insecurities, he thought.

"Alright." 

"Well, I'll see you later, Lennon." Paul smirked, jokingly winking his way - John felt his breath hitch at the sight, cheeks flaming up, but he tried to keep his composure.

"See ya, Macca."

The other boy furrowed his brows, now clutching onto the pipe next to John's window where he would shimmy to the ground below. 

"Yer still gonna use that?" 

John smirked. "Of course. 's yer new nickname."

Paul rolled his eyes. "Okay, Johnny." With that, he began to slide down the pipe and out of John's sight, causing him to quickly get up and peer out the window, wide-eyed and entranced. Johnny! His stomach exploded with butterflies at the nickname for him. It made his heart jump erratically in his chest all over again. 

"Bye!" John called out to Paul, who was down on the ground next to John's house, resting his forearms on the windowsill as he did so.  
This caused the younger to lift his head, gazing up at him from below, not speaking - eventually he waved, making the almond-eyed boy smile a little, before making his way onto the street. 

John's heart was light, mind buzzing with endless thoughts as he observed Paul's figure retreating into the darkness and out of sight. It seemed they had made some progress.


	18. 18 ;; confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DNRJEUSHHDWJ DBBFHS sorry sorry for the longsss wait i was with a friend for a while then my laptop broke and i couldn't write but it's fixed now :') pls take some fluff as an apology

"Aye, John." 

"Ringo, my commandant! What should I tell the troops?"   
Rusting metal glinted in pale sunlight as John twirled his lock around his finger, leaning against his dented locker and grinning at his friend; the shorter boy just rolled his eyes, used to his jest, instead shoving his hands in his pockets and falling against the locker next to his, watching the auburn-haired boy return to rummaging through it. 

"That 'm bored."

"I think we all are at this point." John agreed, letting out a sigh. Attending science was not exactly one of his top priorities. "You know where Dracula and Elvis knockoff are?" 

Ringo let out a faint chuckle at the nicknames before shaking his head. "No, not really. We hung out at the start of school, but you weren't there-"

"I slept in. Detention next week for it." He interrupted, glancing at his friend with a 'duh' expression before slamming his locker shut. "D'you expect any different?"

"Not really."  
Ringo smiled fondly, nudging his shoulder. "Now, d'you wanna ditch? Or is science suddenly lookin' good to ya?"

John paused for a moment, about to reply; though was cut off when a familiar pair walked up to them. He lifted his eyes to meet theirs, cursing under his breath when he locked eyes with a half-smiling Paul and his cheeks grew pathetically warm in response. Off to a great start, aren't we? He thought with an inward grown, turning his attention to his suddenly interesting shoes.

"What are you girls gossiping about?" George questioned with a grin, giggling a little when Ringo shoved him playfully in response. 

"Wanna ditch? We can go to the record shop." 

John wasn't really listening. It had been nearly two weeks since he'd last hung out with Paul outside of school, and he'd felt strangely empty for the entire time without his presence. He'd spent almost every waking moment thinking about him since then, unable to stop no matter what he'd do. It was insanely frustrating at that point. He was just some kid who - until recently - he'd disliked! He had no right to take up all of his brain space every hour of the day. He'd never thought about someone this much, maybe a few girls he'd been with in the past, but this seemed to be on another level. It was just annoying.  
Especially when he knew that Paul probably wasn't even thinking twice on him. That's what made it all the worse.  
Forcing himself from his thoughts, he turned back to Paul and threw an arm around his shoulders him with one of his snarky grins, guiding him away as they trailed after George and Ringo - who were chattering on about something or other. 

"How's it in McCartney land, eh?" He let go of him; not without flicking him in the face as he did so, garnering a somewhat amused but annoyed reaction from the other as he shoved him away with a grin before shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Alright. You?" Paul turned to look at him with a friendly glint in his eyes. It was a strange sight to John to behold, as he was used to piercing glares and clenched teeth directed his way. It made his stomach flutter excitedly.

"Thinkin' about what next rock 'n' roll record I can steal." He proclaimed.

"Oh, god, don't." The raven-haired boy groaned. "What if it goes wrong?"

"What? Little Macca scared of the big bad record shop worker?" John teased, flicking his nose; Paul shrunk away with a glare - but it seemed he'd gotten an idea, as a mischievous grin spread across his face, and he instead poked his own aquiline nose in retaliation. With that, a strange nose-flicking fight began and Paul took off after John down the street outside their school, passing George and Ringo and continuing on (John continually threw "Can't catch me, Sherlock Holmes!" over his shoulder as they ran, causing Paul to laugh). 

Eventually they grew tired and slowed so their friends could catch up, Paul declaring himself the rightful winner; John disagreed, but eventually conceded when the younger boy promised to get him chips sometime. Then Ringo reminded him of something that he'd almost forgotten.

"John! Yer birthday is next week, isn't it?"

"Huh? Oh-" He shrugged a little, slipping his packet of cigarettes idly from his pocket to stick one between his lips. "yeah."

"Were you gonna do anythin' for it?" George queried.

"I dunno. I'd planned on havin' a big party or somethin', but.. I don't really want to anymore." 

"We should do somethin' for it!" Ringo suggested with a wide grin. "Y'know, 's not every day someone turns eighteen," 

"Yeah, yer officially an adult then!" Paul added. 

The almond-eyed boy stayed silent for a few moments, taking a long puff of his cig before sighing as he conceded to the idea.   
"Yeah, why not. But what're we gonna do, then?"

"Could probably go to some pubs, maybe pick up a few birds. Eh?" His azure-eyed friend grinned even wider, tugging on his own ear lobe in a mischievous gesture. John just rolled his eyes, unimpressed with the idea of having yet another one night stand with a girl. He used to love it, but now his developing feelings for Paul caused him to completely lose interest. Reminder to self, he thought, tell Ringo about it.

"Nah. The pubs sound nice, though." 

"It's settled, then!" George clapped his hands together excitedly. "Now we can legally get drinks at a pub with you there!"

"Don't you go thinkin' I'll be shouting ya every time, now." John chided with a joking point of his finger in the younger boy's direction. "'m not a bank."

"Really? I never would've guessed." 

"Dickhead." John chuckled, shaking his head; the four of them had finally reached the record shop and squeezed their way inside, already beginning to scour through the displays. It was always a welcome sight to John. The smell of mature, thick paper laden with dust, the feel of sable chiselled disks in hand - though he was always careful to hold the edges and not smudge fingerprints on the record - and the shop always playing some type of rock or jazz song faintly from the record player at the front desk. It felt like a safe place; and there didn't seem to be many people hanging about besides them, and he preferred it that way.   
Ringo had gone off by himself to look through records on the other side of the shop, George picking up one and making his way to the cashier to ask something, while Paul seemed to trail after John as he thumbed through 'B'. Eventually he came across a Buddy Holly single that he'd been wanting to listen to for a while, and he examined it with a soft gasp, running a finger along the cover.

"Oh! I've been wantin' this for a while. Words Of Love." He grinned, though all his muscles tensed and his heart jumped crazily in his chest when Paul leant over his shoulder to see it, chin brushing it lightly as he did so. He couldn't help but notice the warmth radiating from him, chest bumping against his back for a second before moving away.

"Aye! Let's go listen to it, then." The droopy-eyed boy then grabbed his wrist and began to drag him away from the isles, John uttering weak protests but eventually giving up when they reached the little room that was reserved for listening to records. It was dark and cramped; only a muted orange light spilled from the dingy bulb hanging above them, and the walls were concealed with posters placed all around. In the middle was the record player, a few rows of records stacked up on the left, and headphones that rested on top of it, plugged into the player for them to listen. There was only enough room for about four people to huddle around the record player closely, and John was suddenly aware of the thickness of the air and Paul's elbow brushing against his arm as he began to take the record out of its slip to put it on the player.

"So dark in here. I can't see shit." John commented with a chuckle, squinting around at the room. The fact that he wasn't wearing his glasses was definitely very detrimental at that moment, and it seemed that Paul had picked up on it - he slipped a delicate hand into John's breast pocket of his school shirt, nimble fingers brushing his chest briefly before he took out his glasses, holding them out in front of him with an expectant look on his face. John was rendered speechless from the action, mouth slightly agape and heart beating wildly; the skin that Paul had touched through the fabric tingled crazily and he had to force himself back to reality to take the glasses, every nerve ending fizzling like fireworks. His hands shook slightly as he slipped them on the bridge of his nose, fixing his gaze determinedly on the record player. Paul seemed completely unaffected by what he'd done, instead just picking up the needle to gently place it on the beginning of the song, looking excited. This is bad. Why is Paul acting so normal? Oh god. You're getting in fucking deep John. 

"Here we go. There's only one pair of headphones, so we got to share.." Paul picked them up, glancing to John with an easy smile as he held them up. John swallowed inaudibly, trying to keep his nerves under control as he forced himself to lean in next to Paul to fit the headphones on; they had to press the sides of their heads together to fit them on, and John felt his cheeks burn so hot he swore they would burst into flame at any moment. He couldn't stop focussing on how Paul's shoulder was pressed against his, the warmth of the edge of his face against his as the boy's ebony locks tickled his neck. John felt his forehead begin to break out in sweat.

Keep it together. Just.. he scolded himself. Letting his eyes slowly flutter shut, he pressured himself to just focus on the music, the upbeat beginning chords of the song serenading him and eventually consuming his thoughts. Buddy Holly eventually began to croon in his ear;

"Hold me close and tell me how you feel,"

"Tell me love is real,"

Him and Paul exchanged a quick glance, John feeling his heart leap when he saw the grin on the younger boy's face, the pair starting to sway with the music as Paul clicked his fingers in time with the rhythm. John felt himself calm down as they continued to listen, instead just feeling a sense of joy coursing through his veins, everything else in the world dissolving into the carpet. Just him, Paul, and the music. It felt so natural, so normal, for them to do something like this.. with anyone else, it wouldn't feel right. But for some odd reason, with Paul, he could imagine sitting there, eye to eye with him, just letting the music surround them with its voices and sounds. It was one of the most important things in their lives, after all.

Eventually, that stolen moment they'd shared of a hidden intimacy was over with the song, Paul being the first to move - he pulled off the headphones and nicked the record back off the player, slipping it back into its case.

"That was great." John commented, still reeling from what had happened and feeling oddly cold without Paul pressing up against him. 

"I might just buy you that for yer birthday, then." Paul grinned at him, eyes twinkling in the darkness, and John's heart leapt all over again.

"No, no, y' don't have to-"

"Oh, shut it, wouldja?"   
The younger boy rolled those enticing eyes and sent one last smirk his way before opening the door to the main room, flooding it with bright light; the auburn-haired boy shied away from it with a hand over his eyes, having gotten adjusted to the darkness and unused to the light. He was then left alone, standing like a total idiot in the no longer dark room, nervous to emerge. Sucking in a breath, he pocketed his glasses and made his way back into the main area of the shop. George and Ringo had been waiting by the front door, both of them smirking knowingly as the pair came up the them. 

"How was yer sesh, boys?" George emphasised 'sesh' with a fanged grin, the four of them beginning to bustle out of the shop, not having gotten anything. 

"George!" Paul shoved him with a glare; John noticed a sudden anxiety in him, fingers twirling a loose string from his trousers over and over again as he walked a little further ahead. No longer near or looking at John. His heart sunk a little at the sight, seeing that the joking insinuation George had made had set him off, and it obviously was sensitive or uncomfortable for him. Well, there goes what little chance I had, I guess. 

"Um, well- I gotta go, now. See you guys later." Paul spoke rather quickly, and John noticed him biting his nails anxiously, gaze flitting around him before he sent a weak, halfhearted wave before spinning around to make his way down the other way on the street, not waiting for any kind of response.

"What set him off?" Ringo wondered aloud, eyebrows furrowing.

"I dunno. Let's go, Rings, yeah? I need to talk to ya." John grabbed his elbow, beginning to lead him away. He'd almost forgotten George's existence, and flipped around to say his goodbyes to him. "See ya on the weekend, probably?"

"Yeah, sure." George shrugged, understanding that they needed to talk, sending them one last wave before jogging to catch up with Paul. 

"What is it? What happened with you and Paul?" Ringo immediately began to question him curiously the moment George was gone, John's steps hasty as he took out another cigarette while they made their way to his house. 

"I'll tell you when we get back to mine." 

"Did anythin' happen?" Ringo's eyes went wide.

"No, no! Nothin' like that. Look, just- not here." John hissed back, gesturing vaguely to the environment around them. Obviously not the best place to be discussing queer crushes.   
With that, they fell into a silence for the rest of the trip, it not being too long - eventually they made it home and quickly hopped up the steps into John's bedroom. Mimi wasn't home, thank god, and the pair could settle comfortably in his room. The air was a little stale in his messy, chaotic bedroom, but he didn't want to leave the window open for fear of someone outside hearing him talk as they walked past. Just precautions he was used to taking.   
Ringo took to the desk chair, while John sat on his bed, idly picking his guitar up that had been leant against it and plucking the strings (mainly to give his hands something to do while he spoke). 

"Alright, 'm all ears, mate." Ringo prompted leaning his elbows on his knees as he struck up a cigarette of his own. John anxiously took a drag of his, free hand continuing to pluck at the strings of his guitar in his lap.  
He was so endlessly glad he had someone like Ringo to confess his innermost feelings to and not he judged. Ringo didn't judge him for being queer - or, at least, partly queer - since he was queer himself, and it was the biggest relief ever. If he didn't have someone he could be honest with about those things, he didn't know what he'd do. 

"Um.. well. You might've figured this out already, but.." He licked his lips nervously. It was hard to say it out loud. It seemed that if you did, it would solidify it completely in his mind, since if it was just thoughts, it felt as if you could just brush them aside and pass it off as some sort of phase. But when you say it out loud and tell someone, it just makes it all the more real and true ... and terrifying. "I think I'm uh- like, starring' to like Paul. In- y'know," 

"That way." Ringo finished. He nodded seriously, eyes somber as he twirled his smoke in hand. "'s okay. Ya know.." He slowly began to ease up, a grin overtaking his contemplative expression. "that's great! You guys seem to be mates now, and honestly I think he might like you too!"

John scoffed immediately. "No way."

"Don't start doubting straight away, John! Just.. hang out with him a bit more, see how it goes, yeah? Who knows what could happen? I think somethin' definitely good will come of it, at least." Ringo nudged his foot with his own, smiling at him warmly, eyes glinting encouragingly.

The auburn-haired boy sighed. "Yeah.. maybe. I just.. I don't think he could ever feel the same. He's as straight as could be. And you saw how he reacted when George was joking around before.. he's grossed out by it." He ran a hand through his hair, letting himself fall onto his back. "It's obvious. He'll never even look at me twice."

Ringo was silent for a few seconds. Eventually he spoke up, sounding serious again. "I understand. But.. he could just be afraid. Feelings like that are- scary, at first. Really scary. Everyone's been taught to hate it, y'know- it's not always possible to fully rid yerself of that deeply-set hate towards being queer, sometimes it can be all-consumin'. Just.. give it time." He patted John's shin for a moment. "You'll be okay, John. Paul's a good kid."

"Yeah, yeah." John nodded, though he still felt no optimism at all. Things like this never ended well for people like him. A sense of dread was still lurking at the back of his mind, terrified of the prospect of Paul finding out and being disgusted, afraid.. no longer being his friend, when they'd finally gotten to a good chapter in their relationship, the past of dislike far behind them. And of course he'd tell George, too, and he would stop being his friend as well. He'd be alone, except for Ringo. And people would know his secret. He shook his head quickly to clear himself of those increasingly intimidating thoughts. 

"John." Ringo spoke up again, trying to get his attention. He lifted his head to meet his eyes, taking another drag of his cigarette.  
"You'll be okay."

He stayed silent, the air heavy in the room as their gazes locked together; it had been about a minute before John let his head fall back onto the mattress with a sigh, opting not to answer.   
_What have you done, John?  
What have you done?_


	19. 19 ;; birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi omg sorry for the delay guys but hope u enjoy this ;))

The air was raw and bitter, though the steadily setting sun warmed John's face; the wind was unable to screw his carefully-styled teddy boy quiff up, since he'd spent so much time on it that it was practically set in stone, and his gaze watched the way his strange, long-legged shadow - distorted due to the sunset - passed across the shops he was walking past, mimicking his movements. Three other shadows accompanied his, and he lifted his head to gaze at them. His three friends, George, Ringo and Paul, strolling alongside him and chattering away. George and Ringo were a metre of so ahead of him, while Paul walked alongside him. Seeing the raven-haired boy next to him, round eyes squinting and brows furrowed slightly against the glare of the sun, hands shoved in the pockets of his dark green corduroy jacket, half-smoked cigarette hanging from his lips; it made his heart race and his stomach to swoop with a nervous joy. Ever since Paul tried his first cigarette at John's a while ago, he began to smoke more regularly, though he always borrowed them off of John, scared of buying his own and his dad finding out. Though John was pretty sure Jim would find out simply just by the smell, but he didn't say so.

"Yer basically geriatric now, John! Soon you'll need a walkin' stick!" 

He forced himself to tear his gaze from Paul to meet George's. The younger boy was grinning, flashing sharp canines that gleamed in the light; his hair was done up in a perfect quiff that mimicked John's own, which he had styled himself an hour before in the bathroom of his place for him. He'd done it for Paul, too, even though he was pretty sure he knew how to do it, but after seeing the boy's large eyes gazing at him with the tiniest of smiles, he couldn't refuse. His hands still tingled and fizzled like mad after running them through his raven locks.

"Shut it. 'M only eighteen." He rolled his eyes, taking another puff of his own cigarette before flicking it to the ground, smothering it with the heel of his boot. The four of them were on their way to the pubs, as they'd decided to do for John's birthday, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips at the prospect of tasting familiar amber liquid. They no longer had to lie about their age - well, George and Paul still had to - but now it was legal for him to get drinks. It seemed to take a bit of the fun out of it, though, now that it would be easy for him. 

"Yeah, nearly a quarter of a century old!" Ringo chuckled, walking backwards in front of them, trying to dodge people walking by and avoid accidentally smacking into something. 

"Like you can talk!" The auburn-haired boy retorted. "'Sides, eighteen is not a quarter of one hundred. Have ya even heard of maths?"

"Yeah, I said nearly." 

"You're not exactly Einstein yerself, John, mate." Paul snorted, though the eyes that haunted John's thoughts shone with amusement.

"You'd like to go there, eh?" John felt a wicked grin form on his lips, and he snatched the cigarette right from the younger boy's lips, feeling the need to be cheeky; he only chuckled and held it high above his head when Paul attempted to get it back.

"Ugh, c'mon, give it back!" He groaned, one hand on his shoulder while he tried to reach for it - he was actually almost close enough to grab it, and John noticed with a hint of envy that Paul was almost as tall as him. And probably would get taller over time.

"Oh, but 'm achin' for a drag meself-" he brought it to his own lips, grinning madly when the other boy continued to protest, but he eventually relented and gave it back.

"Git." Paul stuck it back between his lips, but he couldn't seem to be able to contain his own smile. 

"Anyway, now that you guys are done courting each other-" Both John and Paul protested feebly with red cheeks at George's words, but were ignored - "we're nearly there."

John caught sight of what he was talking about. The local pub was across the road from where they were, and it seemed to be pretty packed as well, normal for a Friday, but he actually felt a bit miffed that it would be so busy. The boys then crossed the road, avoiding the traffic, and squeezed inside the building - when Paul tripped on the top step, John's hand automatically flew to his lower back to steady him, and he felt his heart jump erratically in his chest when the boy sent him a grateful smile. John couldn't get the feeling of his back against his palm out of his head, and he instinctively wiped his hand on the thigh of his jeans regularly to try and rid the buzzing nerves. 

They were instantly welcomed by the intense smell of alcohol invading their senses and the warm, yet moody atmosphere of the area; the lights above washed the pub in an orange glow, and people bustled all around them, some already red-faced and stumbling, but they were slightly fewer than it would be in a few hours. It was dark in the pub since the only source of light was the dingy ones on the roof, almost no natural light coming in, and John could almost convince himself that it was late at night already. There was a haze of smoke, tinged blue-orange, that hung in the air due to most people in the bar puffing away on cigarettes and the like. The tables and bar counter chairs were almost entirely full already, but the four of them managed to snag seats up against the wall, right next to the bar, fortunately. John sat up against the wall, attempting to get comfortable, while George sat across from him - Paul sat next to him, Ringo next to George. His stomach swooped with butterflies when the raven-haired boy's shoulder brushed with his. 

"I'll get us our drinks." Ringo had to raise his voice over the seemingly endless stream of talking and clinking of glasses in order to be heard, then disappeared into the crowd towards the bar. John's mouth watered at the thought of downing beers, and he rested his elbows on the table in front of him. Some jazz song was playing distantly on a jukebox in the corner, but he noticed some younger guys that were clustered around it seemed to want to change it. 

"'S more packed than I thought it would be." George commented, knotted brows and fidgeting fingers indicating he was clearly uncomfortable with the amount of people that took up space in the pub.

"What do you expect? 'S a Friday night. 'Course it's gonna be packed." Paul shrugged. 

"We won't hang out too long." John crossed one leg over the other. "I'd rather be home." 

Ringo arrived back after having ordered their drinks, and a waiter delivered their round, and they thanked him before taking their first swigs. John relished the bitter, harsh tang washing over his tongue and snaking down his throat, leaving a blazing trail of warmth in his wake and spreading through his veins, causing him to involuntarily grin a little. 

"To John's birthday!" Ringo announced, holding up his glass in front of them all with a grin in his best friend's direction, causing him to roll his eyes in embarrassment. He noticed the way the glass flared brightly in the light. 

"To John!" George and Paul echoed, and they all clinked their glasses together, John reluctantly following last - they all then took long swigs and slammed their glasses down simultaneously. The auburn-haired boy couldn't help but let his gaze dart to Paul, who was already looking at him, grinning at him, gaze sparkling. It made John's cheeks flush even more, and he smiled bashfully back. He noticed at that point that Paul was much closer than he had been before, and their thighs were then pressed up against each other. John's skin burned through his jeans, almost shivering at the heat radiating off the other boy. 

"Speech! Speech!" George chanted, nudging John and laughing when the older boy pushed him away with a playfully glare.

"Well. Thank you girlies for this fine opportunity to get brain-meltingly wasted and end up pukin' my intestines over the lip of the crapper. Can't wait to get outta here and get away from you lot and do somethin' actually interestin'. Mazel tov. The end." 

They all dissolved into giggles at that, and John's grin grew wider still, feeling a bit accomplished as he took another swig of his drink. He enjoyed the heat that buzzed in his brain, alcohol doing its work of destroying brain cells, as it often did.

"Thinkin' of pickin' up any birds, eh, John?" George raised a cheeky eyebrow. "Might be fun to do tha'. The pull for the evenin'." 

"Nah." John settled eventually, shaking his head. He didn't feel in the mood to chat up random girls, and the fact that Paul was there in the first place put him off the idea more than he cared to admit. The thought of the younger boy flirting with girls, applying his charm at every moment possible, made his stomach churn unpleasantly. Ringo's gaze seemed to darken at George's words, John noticed, and he sent a tiny, sympathetic smile in his direction, small enough not to be noticed by anyone else, but enough to catch his attention. Ringo sent one back, and they turned away, not wanting to garner any suspicion.

John took another sip of his drink, and gazed into the drink, vision blurry, since he wasn't wearing his glasses again. He felt a soft nudge to his shoulder, and his head snapped to Paul, curious. Paul was smiling at him with an amused, albeit fond expression, and he furrowed his brows, bewildered.

"What?"

The boy giggled, and it sounded like music to his ears. "You got a froth moustache." He pulled his sleeve over his hand, and used the back of it to wipe something off the top of John's lip; there was a hidden glint in his eyes, and the almond-eyed boy noticed his cheeks were already beginning to colour pink, which he presumed was because of the beer. He chuckled when Paul let his hand fall back away from him, and he noticed a spread of white on the sleeve. 

"Thanks." His voice came out much quieter than intended, smiling crookedly, but Paul didn't really react. His head tilted slightly, gaze still locked with his own, and John felt his heart thump crazily, longing to tear from its cage and fly right into Paul's embrace, where it felt it belonged.   
He then realised that the both of them were in public, and them blatantly staring at each other while sitting right next to each other, close enough to touch - it was a little suspicious, so he quickly scooted away a tiny bit and tore his gaze from Paul's training it on the table. He felt someone else looking at him, too, and he lifted his head to meet Ringo's gaze. There was a knowing glint in his eyes, a smirk pulling on his lips, and he clutched onto his glass a little tighter, feeling his cheeks redden even more. He sent a glare his way, basically screaming ' say anything and you're dead', but Ringo just raised a single brow before turning back to George, pretending to listen to whatever the boy was rambling about.

The four of them continued to drink more and more beers over time, getting more tipsy with each one, talking about everything and nothing at the same time; by the time John had had his fifth glass, he felt his movements were considerably more sluggish, his mind slowed down to just vague thoughts, along with his speech. He knew he would have a little bit trouble walking if they tried to get up and leave. Paul looked quite pissed himself, red-faced, droopy eyes even more droopy than usual, and laughing at everything anyone said, so close to John that he was basically in his lap at that point; though none of them were at the point where they'd have real problems, except maybe they might've said something stupid that could piss off someone nearby. 

"John, ah- how many fingers 'm I holdin' up?" Paul held up his hand in front of John's face with yet another giggle, and the almond-eyed boy pushed his hand away in response, chortling himself.

"'M not that drunk, jesus, Macca."

"Yeah, but- you ain't wearin' yer glasses so.." The boy glanced around, hands seemingly fumbling for something but obviously not finding what he wanted. "why don't ya put them on? You.. you look nice with them. Cute. Y' should put 'em on." 

John felt as if his face was on fire. What the hell was he saying? He looked cute with his glasses on? In his drunken mind he couldn't help but let words slip (his sober self beat himself up forever about it). 

"Not as cute as arl' Paulie, eh?" He grinned impishly, pinching Paul's warm, insanely soft cheek; the boy gently shoved his hand away at that and giggled even more, gaze soft as he watched him. His lips were pulled in a permanent grin, and his nimble fingers gathered John's jacket sleeve in his grip instead of letting go.

"Shut it."

"Aww, you guys are fallin' in love!" Ringo exclaimed a little too loudly, making the (extremely tiny) rational part of John's brain glance around in fear of anyone hearing him. "We should host their weddin', eh, Georgie?" He turned to the youngest of the group - who was leaning over on the table with the side of his face squashed against it, looking much more drunk than the rest of them. He was younger than everyone else, and way skinny, so he couldn't hold onto his drink as well as they could. 

"Yeah!" George bellowed, throwing a single hand up in some kind of congrats, not moving a single inch otherwise. 

"Oh jeez. You've had quite a bit, eh.." Ringo's expression morphed into a more sincere one, and he began to fuss over the younger boy, helping him sit up and making sure he wasn't going to chuck or anything. "We should get home. I'll take ya back to John's, okay, love?" John didn't miss the whispered nickname, and he grinned a little at hearing it. Ringo really was smitten with George.

The dark-eyed boy grinned lopsidedly at Ringo and snaked his arms around his waist, resting his head on his shoulder, nuzzling into the crook of his neck (the older boy almost froze and his cheeks went beet red at that) before mumbling "okay, Ringsy." John realised that Ringo was right; they probably should go home. 

With that in mind, the group began to squeeze out from their seats and into the crowd of people around them, having a little bit of a problem keeping on their feet but still being able to steady themselves. John accidentally bumped into some other guy walking past, and the man - who was considerably older than them - swung around to glare down at him.

"Watch where yer goin'!" He snarled in a thick Liverpudlian twang.

"Sorry, sorry," The auburn-haired boy mumbled in response, and they quickly got out of there in order to avoid any more disagreements or possible fights; Paul entwined his hand with John's as they left, and he couldn't help but shyly smile at that.   
When the four of them emerged into the world again, it was very dark, and the streets were filled with people already tipsy, or seemingly on their way to parties or gatherings and the like. They began their journey back to John's place, and George and Ringo twirled around as they walked, belting out a slow, drunken version of 'Blue Suede Shoes'; they tried to encourage John and Paul to join in, and eventually they all were singing along, making up stupid lyrics that didn't fit with the actual ones at all and generally fucking around. Paul's arm was permanently thrown around John's shoulders (partly so they could keep each other stable) and it provided him a sense of simultaneous nervousness and calm. It was strange, that feeling - he felt a sense of calm due to Paul's constant presence next to him, but also nervous as to what he would do, and hoping to whatever god that his not-so-friendly feelings for him wouldn't be obvious in any way. 

"George is hammered! Look at 'im." Paul exclaimed, gesturing to their friend - who now had to be supported by Ringo as he babbled incoherently to himself, not seemingly able to keep his feet coordinated - and John burst into laughter at the sight. 

"Poor Geo! Aye, he's probably.. gonna conk out the moment we get back." 

"I bet Mimi'll be upset if he chucks on the living room carpet." Paul giggled (again!). John's heart thumped faster at the sound, and he tried not to trip over his own feet in his drunken state.

"She won't know. She's not home, anyroad." 

The younger boy opened his mouth as if to reply, but it seemingly fell short when a group of men passing them gave them a strange look, eyes full of judgement - the auburn-haired boy then realised that Paul still had his arm around his shoulders, and John's was around Paul's waist. Which probably looked a bit odd to most people. They both pulled away from each other, Paul's gaze fixed on the ground, chewing on his nails anxiously; John felt angry at those men for breaking the bizarre alcohol-induced spell that had fallen over them, and he felt cold without Paul's warmth next to him. 

The group eventually made it to John's house, and they all laughed at him when he fumbled to get the keys into the lock, failing quite a few times and dropping them.

"Stop laughin' at me failures," John spoke through a bubble of laughter as he attempted for the third time to not drop the keys. 

"But it's funny!" Paul snickered. John rolled his eyes at that. Eventually he got the door open, and they all bustled their way inside, almost tripping over each other in their haste to get to someplace warm. The wind outside was harsh and had considerably picked up since they first entered the pub. 

"See. I'm not totally useless." The auburn-haired boy jokingly puffed out his chest in pride. The house was dark and quiet, and he was glad to know that Mimi wasn't home; he turned on a few lights and watched as his friends settled in. 

"'S still funny that yer house is so bloody posh and filled with granny nick knacks." George chortled, raking his gaze across the room and laughing at all of the fancy objects Mimi often displayed.

"Shut up." 

John began to ascend the stairs, and he noticed out of the corner of his eye Paul following him into his bedroom. He felt more at ease at the familiar sight and let himself fall limply onto the bed with a loud sigh.

"Yer so dramatic." Paul chuckled, the mattress dipping slightly as he sat next to the older boy's legs. John's guitar was leaning up against the bed, and the other gathered it in his arms, plucking a few mindless tunes as he fiddled with the tuning. John gazed at Paul from his spot, eyes half-lidded. Somehow the fucker was able to still play perfectly, even if he was drunk. He suddenly grew a bit irritated at the fact that his vision was blurry, and he fumbled for his glasses on the desk beside him, slipping them onto his face; he softened a little when the view of the raven-haired boy beside him greeted his drunken eyes. Paul's cheeks were flushed a bright pink, and his slightly chapped lips were parted as he gazed at the guitar, slow fingers gliding across the strings, clouded eyes still concentrating on it. His quiff that John had styled for him was beginning to deflate, stray hairs peeking out from the greased mass. An inky lock of it hung over his forehead, grazing his eyelid a little while he played, and John got the strong urge to slip it back into place.

For once, he decided to indulge his urges - he wouldn't have even dared if he was sober - but aided by the five beers he'd drunken, he struggled to a sitting position and reached a sluggish, yet tentative hand out. He caught Paul's attention like a dog on a leash, but they just locked gazes and stared as John gathered the stray lock of hair in his fingers, gently sliding it back into position with the rest. The younger boy's cheeks reddened even more than they were, and his gaze glinted with a hidden emotion that John couldn't decipher. His hand lingered on Paul's face, fingertips brushing the side of his cheek before snaking around his jawline to settle on the nape of his neck, short hairs tickling him slightly. Neither pulled away, nor reacted to the touch. John's heart raced faster and faster, and he swore that the boy that had captured his heart was beginning to lean in...

"BOO!"

They leapt apart with noises of surprise, and John practically fell off the bed in shock, terror seeping through him before being quickly replaced with immense frustration. He was about ready to clobber whoever had interrupted the tender moment, the thing that had been about to happen- 

George and Ringo had burst into the room, carrying an opened bottle of wine, but it seemed their laughter deflated when they saw the looks of John and Paul, replaced by bewilderment and a slight awkwardness.

"Uh.. what the hell is goin' on with you two? Jesus!" George laughed embarrassedly. "Well anyways. We got wine! Yer aunt won't miss this bottle, will she, John?"

John shook his head. "No," his voice came out hoarse, and he coughed quietly to clear his throat. Paul got to his feet, refusing to look at anyone, and he mumbled something about going to the loo before disappearing out of the room.

"Is he sick?" Ringo asked innocently.

"I dunno." He shrugged. He got a sudden desire to have more drinks, and gladly took the bottle of wine off of Ringo and took a long swig; wine has a much higher alcohol level than beer, and he regretted taking such a big drink of it, knowing it might come back to bite him in the arse later. 

"You should go to talk to 'im." The oldest of the group suggested, raising an evident eyebrow in John's direction, showing that he understood the connotations of the situation; he managed a tight smile and nod in return, and squeezed past them back into the hallway, eventually reaching the bathroom at the other end. The door was shut, and he decided to just tentatively knock on it, leaning against it for support since he didn't feel as if he could keep himself quite upright at that moment. 

He garnered no response, and he willed his mouth to work for once and speak.

"'M sorry, Paul.. if I was weird or somethin'." 

There wasn't any response for a few more seconds, and his anxiety rose with each one - but eventually Paul's voice floated from the other side of the door, quiet and tired-sounding.

"No, yer okay."

"Can I come in?" John let his head rest against the wood, eyelids struggling to stay properly open.

"Yeah."

Taking the grant of entrance with a sigh of relief, he pushed open the door and made his way into the cramped bathroom. Paul was leaning over the sink, gaze clouded and staring sightlessly into the plug hole, and didn't seem to react when John came into the room. 

"Hi." He greeted, pushing himself up onto the top of the cupboard next to the sink, trying to avoid letting his heels hang against the cupboard door, in case it would startle Paul. 

"Hi." The younger boy echoed; he finally lifted his head, gaze still cloudy but seemingly in a better mood than he was before. Their eyes met, and a hint of a smile graced Paul's lips. "Did you have a good birthday?"

"It was good. Fun." His tongue darted out to lick his lips. "Better than if I had a party or somethin', I think." 

"You don't want a repeat of what happened before." Paul chuckled. 

"Ugh, god.. don't remind me." He laughed. He could almost still feel the way his entire face ached for days as if it had been run over by a car after the fight with Kevin.

"Yer lucky I saved ya." The other boy smirked a little. 

"I am." His expression grew more fond, and he nudged the boy slightly. "My own personal James Bond." 

"Well, well.. we'll have to see." 

John only just noticed now that Paul had slowly inched closer, and now was standing in front of him, John sitting on the cupboard and the younger boy right in front; his shins brushed Paul's sides, and his stomach surged with butterflies, breath hitching in his throat. Oh god. Oh my god. Keep your cool, John. Their staring contest didn't break the entire time, and John saw how drunk Paul really was, since he was so close up. 

" I forgot to bring the record I bought you, 'm sorry." He paused, top teeth sinking into his bottom lip for a moment before stopping. "I'll bring it over tomorrow." 

"'s all good." He shrugged. The silence was so thick and deafening, tension hanging in the air - John swallowed thickly when Paul leant his hands on either side of his thighs, basically pinning him to his spot. He willed himself not to freak out, and he felt a burning sensation in his lower belly, the insane tension that rested between them and the way Paul's fingers brushed his thighs causing blood to rush to his nether regions. Oh fuck.. don't be obvious right now, John, please.. he begged himself silently. 

Paul's face was only inches away from his own at that point; his breath was warm, but stunk of bitter beer as it billowed against John's face, half-lidded sultry gaze boring into his own. He knew that Paul would never ever go this close to him if he was sober - which he was very much the exact opposite of. It disheartened him greatly, and he felt a rush of melancholy that contrasted with the way his body was beginning to get turned on by the situation. 

All of a sudden, Paul moved even closer, but to the side of him, until he was past John and now staring at his neck; John's mind screamed with a million thoughts as Paul's ear brushed against his cheek, his ebony locks tickling his face, before his plump lips that he'd been longing for every day were suddenly against his neck. He mouthed at the skin just below John's jaw, catching it between his teeth ever so gently before pressing gentle butterfly kisses, further and further down.. John inhaled sharply, feeling more blood rush to his crotch as his head fell against the wall, eyes fluttering shut. Oh my god- it's really happening. I don't even know what to do. His heart raced a million miles a minute, stomach burning with a terrified excitement, feeling as if every inch of his skin was on fire, nerves fizzling and buzzing like fireworks - he almost grew lightheaded when Paul placed his hand on his upper thigh, squeezing it gently with tentative fingers. He let out a drawn out, almost silent groan. How was he getting so turned on by even the lightest of touches?  
It seemed as if it was a dream come true; he almost wanted to pinch himself to reassure that it wasn't some kind of fantasy dream his drunken mind had conjured just to torture him, that Paul was really there, fucking kissing his neck and touching his thigh and being so insanely amazing and attractive and- 

But alas, the spell had to be broken. There was a sound of footsteps that replaced the idle chatter that came from George and Ringo, and Paul leapt away from him to the other side of the room as if he'd been burnt and it was all over. The younger boy sat down on the toilet lid, face hidden away from John when George peered into the room. 

"Oi! You guys w-watchin' each other takin' a shit? C'mon!.. we can't let the wine go t'waste. Ringo's gonna play some-some records on John's player." He laughed, though his alcohol-muddled gaze seemed unsure as he watched them. 

"Okay." Paul's voice was husky and deep, but he seemed totally normal as he got to his feet - though he still stumbled due to being drunk, and his gaze shone with anxiety as he trudged after George, leaning against the wall for support as he did so.

John let out a dumbfounded breath. His head fell back against the wall and he shut his eyes, hastily pulling off his glasses and rubbing them with an inward groan. He was alone in the bathroom, and the silence seemed to press in on him from all directions, feeling cold and empty without Paul by his side, though there was a pressing issue in his lower regions that showed evidence that it wasn't just some insane delusion that he'd imagined out of nowhere. 

What the fuck just happened?


	20. 20 ;; visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hiii hope u guys enjoy this chapter !! its a bit short sorry

For the next few days after the.. incident, John was in a shitty mood.

It was often easy for him to be put in a bad mood - sometimes the smallest thing would set him off and he would snap at anyone that dared to look at him funny, sometimes it was just one night of bad sleep that would do it. He would often get over grudges rather quickly depending on what it was - it was extremely rare for him to apologise about anything, though, and most of it would be left unsaid - but occasionally he would let it stew within him, brewing in his stomach like some kind of bitter, resentful potion until it would explode and cause him to do something he would very much regret later. He had been doing the latter for those days; mulling over the situation, feeling angry over the fact that Paul had toyed with his feelings in such a way, and a sad, dismal emotion that the boy he'd been pining for had no memory of it at all.  
He'd heard nothing from him the entire weekend, which caused his anxiety to run high, pondering during sleepless nights whether the younger boy had completely regretted and was disgusted by what he'd done and was going to avoid him, possibly undoing everything they'd done to get to the positive point in their relationship, going back to square one. But, as it turned out on Monday, Paul had come up to him in the morning with a happy-go-lucky expression on his face, and handed him his record he'd bought for him for his birthday with a cheerful grin. Words Of Love, of course. But John was able to tell, from that singular moment, the open and unknowing look in his eyes, acting as if nothing had changed - it meant he didn't remember the events of Friday night. That John was the only one who had memory of it. And he would be alone in his troubled, despairing thoughts, having to remember Paul's lips on his skin and hands on his body while the one who initiated it was blissfully unaware. He had even gone to a bar Sunday night and bedded some pretty bird that was there to try and forget about him for a while, but it had felt painfully mediocre compared to how he felt with Paul. Which could be considered pretty stupid, since all he'd done was kiss his neck at most, but.. he'd felt so alive in that moment. As if his brain had been turned to honey and every inch of his skin fizzling like it'd been set on fire, everything in the entire world melting away until it was just the two of them, floating in some enclosed world of blasting colours. He'd never felt something as intense as that when it came to partners. It was almost frightening, the intensity of his emotions.

He almost wished Mr. Martin had just allowed them to switch partners for that stupid song-writing assignment. Maybe John wouldn't have had the opportunity to fall for Paul in the first place and get himself in the irreversible, shitty mess he was stuck in.

But for now, John was sitting by himself behind the bleachers outside the main school building, secluded by the waterlogged wood, puffing away on a cigarette and feeling sorry for himself. The bleak, frosty wind tore at his nose and cheeks, and he tugged his school blazer tighter against his body in response. It was a bit stupid of him to be sitting out in the cold, especially when the ash-stained clouds swarming above promised a day of rain, but he was determined to avoid a certain person; and by extension, he was avoiding George and Ringo, too - he wasn't trying to, but he knew if he was to hang out with them, Paul would probably be there too, and he just couldn't put up with Paul's oblivious friendliness.

It seemed his plans on avoiding him did not sit well with fate, or whatever.

"John!"

His head turned to the familiar voice, but he let out an audible curse when he saw three distant figures making their way towards him; he knew exactly who they would be, even though they were too far away for his myopic eyes to make out their faces. Of course they'd end up finding him.

"What the hell are you doin' out here? 'S freezin'. We've been lookin' for ya everywhere." Ringo's concerned voice was much closer than before, and he squinted up at his three friends, standing above him. Paul knelt down, placing a hand on his shoulder with worried eyes, but John just indignantly shoved him away and got to his feet. He tried not to notice the hurt in his expression, but instead focussed on taking one last puff of his cig before tossing it to the ground, squishing it with his heel to put it out.

"John. What's goin' on? You've barely spoken to any of us since yer birthday." George asked bluntly, looking a bit irked, but he just shrugged.

"'s nothin', okay?"

"It's clearly not nothin'." Paul furrowed his brows, seeming a bit irritated himself as he crossed his arms over his chest. "What happened?"

"I don't know, Paul. You tell me." He drawled, turning on the boy with a hard glare.

He blinked innocently, looking a little offended. "You're the one sulkin' over nothin'."

"So it's nothin' to you." His throat began to close up, hurt clenching at his insides.

"I don't know what yer bloody talkin' about!" He threw up his hands with an incredulous look.

"Just piss off, alright? Go annoy someone else for a bit." John snarled, hands being drawn into fists at his sides. Instantly, he knew he'd said something stupid; Paul's gaze darkened and he took a step forward, glaring at him with such an intensity that John swallowed thickly.

"Okay. Fuck you." With that, the younger boy spun around on his heel and stormed away. John watched him go with anger still brewing in his chest, clenching his jaw and turning away to look at the ground - he noticed George shuffle awkwardly out of the corner of his eye, then began to jog after Paul, leaving him with just Ringo. The silence that hung over them was leaden with exhaustion, and he let out a soft sigh, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"What happened, John?" Ringo asked earnestly, and John forced himself to look at him. His best friend blinked at him with slight unease in his gaze, but nudged his shoulder gently when he didn't reply.

"It's.. I'll tell you later, okay, Rings?" He began to make his way past him. "See you tomorrow, or somethin'."

He felt a bit saddened when Ringo didn't try to pursue him, but he forced himself not to think about it, instead just striking up another cigarette as he made his way out of the school, deciding to just ditch. He'd stuck around until lunch, and that was enough for him. He'd been about to pass through the front gates when another voice called his name. He paused, turning around to see who it was - he felt a small smile tug on his lips when he saw Stuart (thankfully by himself this time), leaning against the wall and gazing at him with a studying look.

"Hey, Stu." He greeted, taking a drag. He thought to himself for a few seconds, an idea forming in his head, and he grinned conspiratorially. "Wanna ditch and go to the chippy?"

His friend pretended to think for a few moments, his eyes glinting with amusement as he let a smile crawl onto his face. John grinned wider at that, relieved that he seemed to want to. It had been quite a while since he had last spent time with Stuart, just the two of them - and it would be nice to catch up with him for a while. Someone who knew who he really was, who never judged him for it. Not that Ringo ever really judged him, but.. Stuart at least knew what it was like, himself.

"Sure." He pushed himself off the wall, coming up to John before the two then left the school, making their way down the street. Stuart lit up a cigarette of his own.

"Not worried about bein' caught skiving, are we?" The auburn-haired boy raised an eyebrow as he looked at him, amused.

"'Psh, 'm basically an expert at this point." He joked.

"I don't believe it!" John shot back. "We've been caught tons of times 'cause of you. Remember a few months ago we were tryin' to ditch, and we got caught scaling the back fence?"

"That was cause you insisted on tying yer bloody shoes!"

John bellowed out laughter; it was so easy to fall back into old banter with his friend, and it was a comforting thing. At least he still had Stuart to rely on. 

-

Soft, tentative chords broke the silence that shrouded John, tired fingers strumming a sequence that he was still attempting to get right. His mind was a little preoccupied, but he tried to keep his thoughts at bay and just focus on his song that he'd developed a bit more since showing it to Paul; he decided to call it 'It's Only Love'. Ironic, really. He had felt a sliver of hope that the raven-haired boy possibly could reciprocate his feelings, but it was diminished after he saw that Paul continued to be oblivious to what he did. It just seemed like some cruel twist of fate - even then, when did John really have things going his way anyway? So many people had abandoned and left him. It's only fitting that his queer feelings would be unreciprocated, and he would be left by himself, trying to force himself to forget about it and move on.

He felt guilty at how he had acted towards his friends earlier that day. There wasn't any real reason to be an arsehole to any of them - especially George and Ringo, since they weren't the reason he was upset, but his ego stood in the way of apologising to them. He knew it would be better to just get on with it and say sorry, but the stupid part of his brain that screams at him to be macho and strong was trying to block him from doing anything. He just hoped that they could move past it and go back to normal. But Paul was a much different story.   
What were they supposed to do now? Would it just stay like that between them, Paul having no memory of the night while John was stuck with it by himself? Would they just go back to how they were before that, becoming good friends, or would it get in the way and fester, eventually causing them to argue and possibly return to the weird enemy stage they'd been at? The last one frightened John more than he cared to admit. He didn't want to return to that point in their relationship anytime soon.   
He guessed that in the end, it would probably just be a thing of the past, stored in the depths of John's chaotic brain while him and Paul would probably just go back to normal. Even though, a tiny voice inside him kept saying: "if Paul isn't interested in you, why did he make a move on you in the first place?"   
The idea that he could possibly reciprocate his feelings felt like a silly hope, like a fantasy he longed for but could never really come true. But maybe its right.. why would he have done that in the first place?

He was drunk off his fucking head! Another voice in his head protested. He didn't know what he was doing. If it really meant that much, he would've probably remembered. Intense moments like that are usually sobering. He let out a frustrated sigh, pushing his guitar to the side and pulling his glasses off of his face to rest it in his hands. He just wanted to fucking sleep, but he ended up working on his song at one in the morning in an attempt to get away from his troubled thoughts. He knew that if he stopped, he'd just be left alone with them and he'd end up lying awake for the next six hours with anxious thoughts spiralling out of control.

John slipped his glasses back onto his face, about to get up out of bed to go to the bathroom, feeling the need for a shower - he was just about to walk past his bed when there was a harsh tink that startled him, causing him to freeze in his spot, gaze darting around to find the source of the noise. His brows furrowed. Probably just an animal outside. He turned to continued walking. Then again, there was that tink noise, followed by two more, louder this time. His gaze trained on the window that overlooked the street, confusion surging in his chest. Tink tink tink; there were pebbles being thrown at his window. He let out an incredulous scoff, making his way to it and slowly opening it up, cringing at the loud groan of protest the wooden borders made - the cool, bitter air nipped at his face, and he shivered a little; he was only wearing a t-shirt and some red checkered pyjama pants, and the British autumn cold wasn't very forgiving. He peered ahead of him, feeling the need to squint his eyes even though he was wearing his glasses. What the hell was going on?

Another small rock hit him in the cheek and he reeled back in shock with a loud "ow!" before his gaze immediately darted to the ground below. He blinked in surprise when he saw Paul, standing there in the darkness of the night (well, morning), intense gaze boring into his, looking quite unimpressed.

"The hell was that for? Also, it's one. In. The. Morning!" John hissed in a stage whisper, glaring down at him and adjusting his glasses that had fallen askew. "What you bloody doin' here?"

"Let me in. I wanna talk." He crossed his arms, and John found it a little funny from his position; an annoyed Paul McCartney squinting at him from the depths of the fancy garden that Mimi was so proud of (even though she never really touched it, just hired a gardener) at one in the morning, wearing pyjama pants and a black shirt with a large jacket over the top and untied shoes. He let out a snort of laughter and rolled his eyes, deciding to comply. He couldn't lie - he felt his heart race with excitement, but he tried to keep his cool as he spoke again.

"'Kay. Wait outside, I'll come and let you in through the front. Quiet, though, 'cause Mimi."  
He didn't miss the smile that tugged on Paul's lips, and he ducked out of the window and shut it in order to avoid letting in the cold, before sneaking out of his room and creeping down the stairs. Thankfully, he made it there without waking Mimi, and opened up the front door to let Paul in. When he opened it, the younger boy was standing right in front of him, and John almost jumped back in shock, expecting that he hadn't moved from his spot in the garden. 

"Thanks," Paul seemed a little less confident in that moment, gaze flashing nervously as John led him into the house and up the stairs as silently as possible, eventually making it to his room; the auburn-haired boy collapsed on his bed, while the younger boy sat tentatively at the edge of the mattress. 

"Tell me what's up, John. Somethin' happened on yer birthday, didn't it?" Paul gazed at him seriously, brows furrowed. "I barely remember much from that night." 

John swallowed thickly, gaze trained on the ceiling as he laid there, nervous to look at the other. Should he really tell him the truth? It would be too big a risk. He shook his head, lifting himself up on his elbows so he could look at Paul.

"Look.. it's alright. It was nothin', just.. was in a bad mood. If I could, I'd tell you, but.. I just can't. I can't tell you." He gazed at him with as much sincerity as he could muster. "I'm sorry I was a dick. To George and Rings too." 

"Alright." Paul seemed to soften. He didn't look satisfied with his answer, but he seemed to understand and decided not to push it. John felt his breath hitch when Paul laid down next to him, gazing back at him for a moment before turning his eyes to the ceiling. "Want a cig?"

John nodded gladly, and watched as Paul slipped out a cigarette from a packet in his pocket before lighting it up; he couldn't help but stare at his lips that closed around the cig before he took a drag, expelling the smoke into the air with lidded eyes. He felt his heart jump erratically in his chest, unsure what to do, and he managed a nervous smile when Paul handed it to him. He was glad that he had the nicotine to calm his nerves. The silence between them was steadily growing tense, and John had to keep his gaze determinedly fixed on the ceiling, passing the cigarette back and forth. He felt as if his emotions were choking him again, threatening to spill through tears and words and embarrass him completely. He longed, oh so longed for Paul's affection, but he knew he couldn't have it. It was an impossible fantasy; nothing was ever going to happen. But he couldn't help it- he had to ask. He had to have reassurance. 

"Don't leave me, Paul." His voice came out hoarse, and he took a shaky drag to occupy himself with anything other than his friends' reaction. Paul could laugh at him. Make fun of him, call him a queer pansy, shrug it off and probably go home. He was fully expecting it, preparing himself for the humiliation of revealing his feelings, but there was no response, and he dared himself to glance at him. His breath almost hitched when he saw the younger boy gazing back at him, a soft, fond smile on his face.

"I'm not gonna any time soon, John." 

He smiled back a little, though he was unconvinced. Literally everyone else in his life has left him. Why would Paul be any different? 

He watched as the raven-haired boy sat up, gazing at him with a sincere look in his eyes.   
"I'm serious. I promise you 'm not goin' anywhere. What happened in our past is behind us. I'm here and I'm with ya, okay? You're me mate, John. I can see yer a good person at heart." 

John gulped. He wanted to believe what he was saying, he really did.. 

"Everyone's left me, Paul," He blurted, feeling his throat close up with emotion again. "Me uncle died when I was fifteen.. I've been livin' with him and Mimi since I was six or somethin'. My friends ditched me after I started hangin' with you and Geo. Me dad left before I could wipe the drool off my fuckin' chin." He blinked harshly, getting into a sitting position. He hadn't told anyone anything like this in a long time - Ringo of course new about it all, but Paul didn't know anything. Except for the fact that John's mum died earlier in the year. "Mum fucking died this year!" His voice rose a little, and he quickly shook himself, remembering that he could accidentally wake up Mimi. "Whose t' say Ringo won't either? Or George? Or you?" 

Paul's tongue darted out to lick his lips, though his eyes shone with sympathy as he placed his hands on his shoulders. John tried not to shiver at the touch.  
"They didn't leave you, John."

The auburn-haired boy blinked, wondering where he was going with this.

"Maybe yer dad and yer friends left, yeah, 'cause they're fuckwits." John chuckled a little at that, feeling tears weld up behind his eyes. "But yer mum? Your uncle? They didn't leave you. They just.. they died. Sorry- that's a bit blunt, I guess. But it's just how life is sometimes. It sucks." The younger boy paused, eyes misting over with emotion himself. "It fuckin' sucks balls all the time. And you don't get over it.. I never got over me mum dyin'. And I don't think I ever will. But you learn ta live without 'em. They're still there - in yer memories, in your heart and head and hands... they didn't leave you, John. I know it must feel like that's the truth. But none of it, is your fault. It isn't. I'm not gonna treat you like a kid and say it gets better because-" his voice became increasingly more strained, and John had to blink harshly to try and stop the tears that were resolute on making their appearance.   
"it just doesn't. Plain an' simple. But what you do is ya learn to live without 'em. To be without them, to cope with it.. though they never really leave you, 'cause you still have 'em in your mind. It'll hurt in a few months time, it'll hurt in a few years.. it will probably still hurt when yer eighty and usin' a walkin' stick or somethin'."

"Bold of ya to assume I'll need a walkin' stick at eighty." John cut in, the cheeky words slipping through without his permission - he was glad when Paul laughed weakly, causing him to chuckle through his unshed tears. 

"I'm sorry about yer mum, Paul. I.. I am." He sighed, resting a hand on his knee for a moment before reluctantly pulling away. 

The other smiled sadly. 

"'S okay. I'm sorry about yours, too. And about yer uncle." 

John nodded. He was surprised and warmed when Paul pulled him into probably one of the tightest hugs he'd ever experienced, and he held him back with as much strength as he could muster. He was surprised when Paul buried his head in the crook of his neck, seemingly wetting the skin with tears. An uncontrollable smile crawled across his face, and he felt his heart race with joy. Paul was someone who understood the pain of losing a loved one. A mother. It make him feel slightly less alone.  
When they finally pulled away - only enough to look each other in the eye - he gathered his thoughts to speak.

"I've never had anyone who understood what it was like.. who really knew."

Paul smiled, and John felt his cheeks flame. 

"Me neither."   
There was a pause.

"Seems like findin' each other was good, then. In the end."


	21. 21 ;; secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jehehrhehshehehehe 
> 
> also sorry for the delay guys hhh been having a lot of writers block and art block too omg it's been so fucking frustrating i hate this shittt but anyways i'm trying my best to get back on track , enjoy this chapter

Blades of grass tickled John's cheeks as he laid sprawled on his back in a familiar clearing, eyelids shut as he hummed along to distant, gentle notes of a guitar; he felt the weak breeze on his face and the light of the sunset on his eyelids. His hands laid comfortably on his chest, one possessing a half-smoked cigarette that he lazily brought to his lips every now and then, one leg crossed over the other as they laid across his friends' legs. Ringo's legs, to be exact. The two of them and George were chatting idly as they lay in the depths of Strawberry Fields, enjoying their time together on a Friday night, fresh out of school. They were still in their uniforms, actually, but their ties, shoes and blazers had been discarded long ago. George had eventually taken John's guitar at some point (he had brought it with him to alleviate his boredom) and was now displaying a mysterious tune he was seemingly making up as he went.  
It had been an interesting past few days since Paul had visited him at his house in the depths of the night. The days afterwards, Paul had only seemed to be present when the group were all together. He only talked to John a few times when it was necessary, sat furthest away from him, and put on this mask of pleasantness; the moment they were alone, he would be gone in the blink of an eye, always with an excuse such as "got to get to class" or "da' needs me home for somethin'." It was infuriating John. But, what was worrying him was the rare times he would lock eyes with the auburn-haired boy - his cheeks would flush bright red and his eyes would glisten with something unsure. With unease. It was strange. It was better than the two of them not talking at all, per se, but this weird state of Paul finding as many possible ways to avoid talking or looking at John without looking suspicious and still hang out with George and Ringo wasn't all that great. It was toying with his anxiety and his deeper fears. That opening up to Paul like that - being emotionally vulnerable with him, basically begging the boy not to abandon him - had scared him off of being his friend. That he had weirded him out by being all soft, and that he didn't seem to want to be friends with him after all. At least he wasn't being an outright dick like they used to be to each other.. but it was still frightening to John. Did he really scare Paul off? It was driving him insane. The vindictive voices in his head would always sneer and him and say "of course", but he tried to hold out a tiny beacon of hope that that wasn't the reasoning for Paul's strange behaviour. That he hadn't driven him away with his sob story and insecurities. He had considered talking to Ringo about it, but he didn't want to have to constantly turn to his friend with his problems. There were just some things he wanted to keep between just him and Paul. 

"John? Yer about to burn your fingers off." 

He resurfaced at George's voice, blinking his eyes open and looking down at his hands. A sudden burst of pain shot up his arm and he let out a 'gah!' and dropped his cigarette to the grass beside him. He'd been so lost in thought he didn't realise that his cig had been burning away, and he quickly put it out with his elbow to ensure it wouldn't light the grass on fire. He sat up quickly and examined his burnt fingers, but relaxed when he saw no real damage had been done. 

"Somethin' occupyin' yer mind, John?" Ringo began, raising an eyebrow curiously as he sat next to George against the tree trunk, head resting on the younger boy's shoulder. "You've been so distant and weird lately."

"I'm surprised anythin' can occupy his mind other than Elvis or jerkin' it." George snarked with a grin, chuckling when John tossed his cigarette butt at him in retaliation. 

"Shut it. What do you think about, anyroad, Geo?" He grinned back. "Do you think about anythin' other than Elvis and jerkin' it?" 

"Yeah." He continued plucking idly at the strings on John's guitar.

"Like what?" John raised his eyebrows.

"Brigitte Bardot."

"Oh, such a step up!" He laughed, leaning back on his hands as he adjusted his position a bit.

"Agh, can you get off me legs, John? Mine are fallin' asleep." Ringo complained, trying in vain to shove him off of them. But, of course John was a little shit, so he continued to put them back there, and the only thing that stopped him was Ringo tickling his socked feet, making him retract with a yelp of laughter. He gave up, letting his head fall back on the grass below, gazing up at the ceiling of thick tree branches that stretched and forked above him. 

"I'm bored!" John declared, sitting up again and resting his head on his hand.

"And?" George queried. "Your point is?"

"My point is, we should go do somethin'. Ya know, like nick records, go to the pub or the chippy.." 

"Why don't we go to the beach?" Ringo suggested with an excited grin.

"It's 17 degrees Celsius right now, Rings. Do you fancy getting hypothermia?" John rolled his eyes, falling onto his back again.

"Well if yer so worried about the cold, what are we doin' outside?" He shot back. 

"Well, let's go inside, then!" 

"I don't got any money for things like chips-"

"What you guys bickerin' about now?" The three of them almost jumped out of their skin at the new voice, wide gazes snapping in the direction of it like they'd been caught robbing a bank. When they were met with the sight of Paul, changed from his school clothes and looking amused with a cigarette hanging from his lips, they relaxed (except for John, who sat there staring at him with tense muscles).   
"Hah, did I really scare all of ya?" He burst into laughter, leaning on his knees for a moment before moving closer, settling in the grass in front of them. "I didn't think it would work!"

"Didn't hear ya coming!" John protested feebly, though was unable to suppress the joyful grin on his face. 

"What, yer deaf as well as blind?" Paul snickered, laughing harder when John kicked his shin in response, taking a puff of his cig. 

"How'd you find us?" George asked curiously.

"Well, I was lookin' for you fellas anyways, and I thought it wouldn't hurt to check Strawberry Fields, 'cause John is often here." He shrugged. 

"Well, we were about ta leave and go somewhere else. You wanna come?" Ringo got to his feet, brushing himself off before helping George up (John didn't miss the way the two grinned shyly at each other, their hands entwined for longer than necessary before they let go). 

"Sure." 

The rest of the group then got to their feet, John taking his guitar back from George and slinging it over his back as they began to make their way out of there. He lingered at the back of the group, though, feeling a sudden nervousness. He wanted to speak with Paul, alone. He had to confront him about the way he was acting, about what had been going on - he couldn't go on with this stupid charade any longer.  
Thankfully, Paul was only a bit behind him, seemingly slowing down himself as he put out his cigarette.

"Paul?" He began, gripping his guitar strap tightly before forcing himself to shove his hands in his pockets to appear more casual. 

"Yeah?" The boy turned around to look at him; there was that anxious look in his eyes again. His fingers toyed with the end of his sleeve over and over again, but he didn't just make some excuse to get out of there even though George and Ringo had gone ahead out of earshot. "'s up?"

"Um.." he began, suddenly unsure of what to say. How should I go about it? Just ask him what's going on, or?.. Licking his lips, he crossed his arms over his chest. "what's up with you? You.. you've been actin' really strange since that night. And don't say you haven't, I can see it." He took in a shuddering breath, trying to force himself to calm down and ask a more vulnerable question. "Is it because of.. of what I was sayin'? 'Cause I was all soft and.. vulnerable and that shite?" 

Paul blinked, eyes widening in shock.

"'Cause yeah, I know it was stupid and queer, but- but can we just forget it happened? Can we just, like- go back to normal and all that? You can make fun of me or whatever, I don't care (yes he did care), but can we just forget-" 

"John!" Paul interrupted with an incredulous laugh. "Mate. It wasn't 'cause of that at all. Calm yerself." 

He forced his mouth shut, brows furrowed in bewilderment. But he couldn't help but blurt out the words: "So what the hell is it then? Why are you actin' so strange and avoidin' me?"

This caught the younger boy a bit more off guard, and he let out a few stuttering syllables before scoffing, shaking his head and pointing an accusing finger at John.   
"You haven't told me why you were avoidin' me either! So you can't ask that."

"But- but that's different!" He groaned, running a hand down his face. "I would if I could, but I can't! I'm serious in that!" 

"Well, what if it was the same for me, huh?" Paul retaliated - John noticed the way he chewed his lip anxiously. "What if I can't tell you mine either because you'd hate m-" he stopped himself, but John had already heard enough.

"Hate you? You serious?" He took a step forward, staring at him like he'd grown three extra heads. "Why the hell would I hate you, Macca?! For gods' sakes. I thought that part of our relationship was over!"

"Y-yeah, and it is!" Paul nodded. "I just.. I'm sorry! I can't tell you. I-I would.. if it was different." He paused. "If we were different." Those words came out so quiet John almost thought he imagined them.

"If we were different?" He echoed with another step forward, voice dropping to Paul's volume immediately. "What do you mean?"

"Nothin', nothin'!" He began straight away, taking a few large steps back and crossing his arms over his chest, looking as if he had shrunken three sizes in two seconds. His gaze was determinedly fixed on the ground, and he idly kicked at a loose rock. "It's nothin'."

John didn't reply for a few seconds, just watching him.

"I guess we both have secrets to keep, then." His voice was quiet, but resolute. "Ones we can't tell, but would if we could."

"Yep. I guess we do." 

The silence that hung over them was almost unbearable, and this time John took the opportunity to walk past and ahead of him. He then paused, noticing the raven-haired boy was still in the same position, having not moved an inch. 

"Well, 'm going to join the others. Come if you want, or.. whatever."   
With that, he left, not waiting for an answer.

-

The week following the confrontation was excruciating, to say the least. 

Paul ended up not coming with them to walk the streets of Liverpool, changing his mind and making up some excuse about needing to do chores before bolting away without waiting for any response. George and Ringo had been particularly bewildered, and when they questioned John, he just shrugged and said "McCartney's in a mood again."   
He also continued his now regular routine of avoiding John as much as possible; now actually garnering attention from George and Ringo, who confronted him a few days after the Strawberry Fields incident as to why he would leave so much quicker than usual and never seemed to hang out or talk with John anymore, and he'd snapped at them to mind their own or else he'll make them wish they did before storming away. It pissed John off quite a bit - he could tell the boy was stressed about his supposed secret that was making him avoid John, and that was fine, but there wasn't any reason to start to take it out on their friends. They had no part in it, and didn't deserve it. In fact, he had followed Paul after he stormed away to tell him just that, but he'd only gotten a "Piss off, John. Like you wouldn't know about taking things out on people who don't deserve it."   
After that, he'd just given up on trying to talk to him. They brushed off any questions about their moodiness and avoidance of each other, and went on Business As Usual. Even though it hurt John much more than he could ever admit.  
Along with all those problems, it was beginning to get harder and harder for John to suppress his feelings for Paul. They would just be sitting in class or something, Paul would be sitting a few rows ahead of him (he wouldn't ever sit too far from him, though, which was strange if he was trying to avoid him) and he would sigh in a way that would make John's insides melt, and he couldn't help but stare at the way he itched the side of his nose with his middle finger and furrowed his brows when he was concentrating and how he ran his hands through his endlessly dark, thick hair and how he always seemed to be making some type of beat with his fingers or foot or humming some tune no matter what was going on- then he would lie awake at ungodly hours, lamenting over how fucking stupid he was and how shit of a situation he'd gotten himself into by falling for someone like Paul. Then he would watch him walk by in the hallways, clutching cutely onto his school books, or how he would laugh at George's joke or something and his pixie nose would wrinkle and his cheeks would puff up with his smile; and all doubts would be banished from his mind. It wasn't a surprise that he fell for Paul. Who wouldn't? John didn't even care if that made him look like a soft, queer bastard (which he certainly was the last two) but Paul was just that kind of person. Insanely talented, insanely beautiful, insanely funny and insanely cool and insanely fucking amazing in every possible way and I've used insane too many times. What's not to love? 

Well, I guess you could count the way he's controlling, a right dickhead when he wants to be, egotistical - John countered to himself. But that's still a part of Paul. His good qualities outshine his flaws, and it would be unrealistic to expect someone to have none in the first place. Flaws are a part of people. They don't make them any less beautiful, either.   
But for now, there was nothing he could do about his feelings, and it seemed Paul was still set on avoiding him. So his situation - for lack of a better term - sucked. 

But there was more and more times where John began to wonder (even more than he was already wondering) what really was the secret that Paul was determined to keep from him. He would catch Paul at random times staring at him in class before quickly looking away with red cheeks, staring at him when they were in a group and George and Ringo would be yammering on about bullshit, coming across him in the bathroom and lingering in front of him, looking as he was about to say something, running into him at the record store and becoming insanely flustered out of nowhere - what the hell was the secret?   
A self indulgent, longing part of him was hoping it would be that Paul held queer feelings for him too, and they would end up together and having a secret, exciting romantic rendezvous behind everyone's backs - but the logical, reasoning part of his brain (that was often very, very small) would bring him back to reality and remind him of the fact that that was extremely unlikely, and it was 99% chance it was just him and his unrequited feelings. But he couldn't help but hold onto that silly, stupid hope that it could be true, and he could finally get what he wanted for once in his life. 

It seemed that fate just wanted to torture him more, though, by forcing him to run into Paul once again outside the chippy on Saturday - he was with Stuart, while Paul was accompanied by an excited, babbling George. 

"Oh! John! Fancy seein' you here, eh?" George exclaimed, excited. "Cold, innit?"   
Paul seemed to freeze when he spotted John, mouth parted and eyes wide - it unnerved him a little, and he rubbed the back of his neck to give him something to do other than look at him. Stuart seemed to feel even more awkward, though, standing to the side with his half drunken milkshake and hiding his expression behind his dark sunglasses he always sported. 

"Yeah. What's got you so happy, though, eh?" He smirked, nudging the younger boy.

"Oh, I finally got the entire chords memorised to Reelin' and Rockin'!" George practically beamed. 

"You little prodigy, you are!" He chuckled, ruffling his hair. He couldn't help but feel a little jealous at that, though. George was always be a much better guitarist than him. 

"Aye, Johnny, 'm gonna head home, now. I'll see you later, yeah?" Stuart piped up, and he turned to look at him, almost having forgotten he was there.

"Yeah, no worries. See you, Stu." He waved him off, watching his friend leave, before facing the pair again. Paul was standing a little ways away, keeping his forcibly placid gaze fixed on the road next to them, hands in his pockets; John suddenly had an idea rise inside him, and he clenched his fists for a moment - he was tired of this stupid game they were playing, and he decided it was time to confront Paul again and get the bloody secret out of him. 

"Hey, Geo- mind if I just snag Paul for a bit? Thanks, be back in a mo'." The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he didn't hear George's faint "Uh.. sure?" as he descended on Paul, ignoring the raven-haired boy's protests as he dragged him by the arm into the alleyway next to the fish and chip shop. Shoving him up against the wall with his shirt gathered in his fist, he glared at him nose to nose. Paul scowled right back at him with just as much intensity.

"Tell me now."

"Tell you what?" Paul played innocent and shoved him off, and John retreated, not wanting to be caught by anyone in their detrimental position. But he stood as close to him as he could, refusing to let him sneak past as he continued to stare him down.

"You know bloody well what. I'm sick of this stupid game yer playin' of avoidin' me. So- tell me what it is." He crossed his arms. "Everyone's askin' questions all the time, and I just want it to be over."

Paul shook his head quickly, fear sparking in his eyes - at seeing that, John softened and he let out a sigh, feeling bad for him.

"Sorry, I.. I don't mean to be a dick about it. But can you just tell me? It's drivin' me insane. Drivin' George and Ringo insane too. Could you just tell me the truth?" He ran a hand through his hair, gathering as much courage as he could to look him in the eye. "I won't hate you. You know that. I just.. I want me mate back, okay?" 

"I c... I can't-" Paul started, face contorting with pain for a moment before his gaze darted around, seemingly checking if they were alone. His voice dropped to a whisper, and he couldn't seem to hold eye contact with John when he spoke the next words. "I remember."

John paused, completely bewildered.  
"Remember what?"

"I remember." His voice was even quieter then, but his gaze darted back to John's, gazing at him with an intense sincerity. "What.. what happened. At your birthday." 

He froze. What? John blanched, arms falling to his sides as he stared at Paul in shock. 

"What? You..! You remember what happened!" He exclaimed loudly, then uttered an apology when Paul hissed a frantic "be quiet!". 

"I was drunk- I was- but I remember what happened-" He shook his head quickly. "I can't deal with this. I'm scared-"  
Seeing the raw terror in Paul's eyes was frightening enough for John.  
"I have to go. Don't- don't follow me-" he begged, unable to look at him. "just give me a few days."

"Paul," John started, taking a few steps forwards, but Paul started to hurry away, shoulders hunched. He jogged after him, but he had already started off down the street. He stared after him with despair, fear, shock and utter confusion settling in the depths of his stomach, feeling completely at a loss for words. At a loss for.. anything. 

"John! What the hell happened? Why's Paul runnin' off?" George questioned, looking bewildered and a bit frustrated, but all John could do was stare after the spot where Paul had disappeared around the corner.   
He remembered what he did on John's birthday.   
But it was obvious he wanted to forget.


	22. 22 ;; wondering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aaah i was excited so this is coming out early :') enjoy

John almost wished that Paul had never told him the truth.  
Ever since that fateful afternoon on Saturday, he was in a perpetual state of madness and utter turmoil; he didn't really process the words at first, walking home from the fish and chip shop with a blank mind, vaguely greeting a dish-washing Mimi - who had grown concerned at his strange state, though didn't press him with further questions - before sitting on his bed, arms leaning on his knees as he stared at the floor below his feet. It was then he really realised what it meant, and his brain went to the conclusion that Paul regretted what he had done. That the reason why he'd been acting strange and avoiding him was because he remembered what had transpired on John's birthday, and had wanted to pretend that nothing had happened because he didn't want it in the first place. That Paul was just a normal straight guy who didn't want to get involved with a revolting queer like him. From Ringo and Georges' reactions, they seemed oblivious to the situation, so it seemed the raven-haired boy gave him the liberty of keeping the whole thing secret and not alerting their friends of John's preferences (Ringo knew and didn't mind, but who knew how George would react), but that was it. Paul regretted what he'd done and now wanted to avoid John as much as he could for fear that he would think he actually wanted him. What great fucking luck. 

For the rest of that Saturday night, John lay awake, unable to sleep; lamenting over his situation and just wishing that he'd never befriended Paul in the first place so he would never have gone through the pain of falling for someone who toyed with his feelings and regretted putting out the wrong message. He felt an intense anger, too - anger at himself for being such a fucking pansy, for pining over Paul, and at Paul for doing what he did. And being the amazing, insanely attractive person he was in the first place. He didn't end up sleeping that night, though passed out after smoking an entire packet of cigarettes within a few hours. When he awoke at around three in the afternoon from Mimi awaking him and reminding him he was supposed to hang out the washing, then promptly complaining that his room "smelt like you just set your room on fire and let it burn for the entire night". He barely even listened, just staring at her blurry figure above him from myopic eyes. Eventually he was able to muster the energy to properly exist and dragged himself from bed - only to go to the pub at six and drink himself into a stupor. He then awoke on Monday with probably one of the worst hangovers he'd had in a long time in some random hotel room with a naked, also hungover girl beside him. When she finally awoke and turned over to look at him, he almost let out an audible sound of despair. She had a striking resemblance to a certain person, and he scoffed aloud at himself for being such a sad sap while pissed and bedding a girl that seemed to be a doppelgänger to the boy he harboured queer feelings for. They'd talked for about two sentences before he gathered his things and left without another word. He felt bad about it, but.. being around someone who looked so alike to Paul was just painful. He didn't remember almost anything of that night, and he was almost scared he'd given himself alcohol poisoning just because he was devastated about a boy he never even had in the first place.   
Mimi had begun to yell at him about how he had disappeared on Sunday night without a word and now had missed half the school day, both George and Ringo had called, being worried about him and "do you even realise how much you reek, John??". He had only two words for her - piss off. He then got into bed and slept through the rest of the day, feeling stupid and dumb and loathing himself to the ends of the earth. Why would Paul ever like him back? He was just an ugly, miserable arsehole who pushed everyone away when they got close to him and harboured no talent at all. Paul had to teach him the proper fucking guitar chords, for god's sake! It was a hopeless endeavour. 

That day felt so long ago now. It was only a few weeks, maybe a month ago; so much had happened since then that it felt like it'd been two years. 

So now it was time for John to wallow in self-hatred, smoke like a chimney and snap at anyone that dared look at him wrong, a normal feat for him. He was used to it by now.   
He eventually forced himself to go to school on Wednesday (well, it was more like Mimi threatening to kick him out if he didn't make use of his education, which - when was he really making much use of it in the first place, anyway?) and he was greeted by a distressed George and Ringo, who seemed to have been waiting for him outside the front gates. They pressed him on what had happened, George kindly pointing out "you look like a rats' arse from the Black Plague", but he had just waved them off, eventually threatening to bash them if they didn't stop asking questions about it. They shut themselves up, but he could see the hurt in their eyes at his harshness. It just made him feel all the more worse about himself, really. He was unsurprised to find that Paul wasn't at school, either. 

"Somethin' happened between you and Paul, didn't it?" Ringo had confronted him during lunch after forcefully dragging him into the bathrooms, demanding an answer and ignoring John's feeble protests. "He hasn't been answerin' Georges' calls either, and he hasn't shown up to school this week, so far. Even when George came around to his place, Jim had said he was feelin' sick and didn't want to talk to anyone. What happened between you two?"

John didn't speak at first, just staring at him from exhausted eyes. In this response, Ringo let out a scoff and crossed his arms, shaking his head with a disgruntled look.

"Did you guys fight again? Don't tell me you guys are back to that stupid phase where you acted as if the other was yer enemy, for fucks' sake." 

"Leave me alone, Ringo!" He shoved his chest in a sudden burst of rage, glaring at him from his bloodshot eyes, ringed with alarming dark circles; this seemed to shock his best friend, who took a step back, staring at him with a wide, wary gaze. "'S none of yer fuckin' business. 'M tired of all the questions. Piss off and hang out with fuckin' Brows or somethin', or go bother Paul for all I fuckin' care." 

"John-" Ringo began, gripping onto his arm when the other tried to shove past him.

"I said, piss off!" He bellowed, snatching his arm from his grip with another piercing scowl before slamming the bathroom doors open so loudly that it startled the kids walking past - he didn't even notice them all staring at him as he stormed down the hallways and out of the back doors, fury clouding his vision and his mind. He didn't even realise where his feet were taking him before he was suddenly standing underneath the football bleachers, the frigid winds tearing at his flesh and sending a loose newspaper tumbling uselessly in its wake. 

He only let out a despairing sigh, collapsing onto the grass and lying against the back of the bleachers, ignoring the way the wood dug uncomfortably into his shoulders. His nicotine-addicted mind ached for another fix, and he shakily dug out a fresh pack of cigarettes he'd bought on the way to school (he'd smoked five of them already within then and now) before sticking one between his lips. As he tried to light it, the wind constantly winked out the flame of the lighter, and he cupped his jittery hands around it to try and shield it, but it continued to fizzle out.   
He let out a strangled noise of frustration and flung the lighter into the distance, feeling as if nothing was going his way at all. What was the point?

As he sat there, hanging his head and toying with his unlit cigarette, he was reminded of a faint memory, sitting there behind the bleachers. The last time he remembered being there was with Paul, when they were working on their song for their partnered project. They had still despised each other at that point, but John had been trying to get closer to Paul and figure out why he was being such a dickhead. 

Seeing Paul so close up and in good definition was daunting. His shiny, ebony locks were flattened and seemingly even darker with water, and drops of it rolled down his forehead and a slender nose. It clung to dark eyelashes, and his mossy green eyes stared up at him, shocked and unguarded. John noticed a drop of water hanging on the tip of his upturned nose that eventually dropped onto his upper lip, guiding his gaze down to his dark, plump lips. They were parted, revealing a glint of white teeth, and they shone with water.

"Let's meet at the gates after school. We can keep working on it."   
There was a pause. "The song, I mean." 

"I have detention." John stared foolishly.

"I can wait." Paul stared back.

John struggled to his feet and let out a stifled, infuriated noise at the clear memory before kicking at the waterlogged, rotting wood of the bleachers with much more strength than he had anticipated. He deflated immediately afterwards, clutching onto his foot with his face contorted in pain, regretting his impulsive kick. Why had everything fallen apart so damn quickly? They started out hating each others' guts, then eventually grew closer and closer until John caught romantic feelings (though, looking back on it, he figured he had probably developed the feelings way before that and had deeply suppressed it) and then one tiny incident sent them way back to the beginning. Not even to their hating stage, but to a stage where Paul was probably regretting ever becoming friends with him while John had to live with having feelings for someone, having felt their lips on his skin, but who felt nothing back. It happened all within such a short time frame that he could almost imagine that they had almost never been friends in the first place. That their encounters were just a passing phase, and that it would be forgotten within the next year. But of course, that was an impossible feat. Him and Paul's relationship was.. different. He felt such an intense pull towards the mysterious raven-haired boy, as if he were a magnet, fascinated by everything about him. He felt like there was a deeper connection forming, something underlying between them, reaching into their very hearts and minds and conjuring as one. Especially when they made music together. There was always such an invigorating electricity crackling in the air like lightning, sending excitement buzzing in John's veins and feeling as if he could do just about anything. Like they were meant to be around each other. Their relationship couldn't just end like this. It wasn't right. He felt as if there was more to come, that it hadn't ended there - that it was just the beginning.   
An idea suddenly formed in his head. Someone who could comfort him at that moment; not someone like Stuart or Ringo, who knew all about him and his queer feelings, but someone who could just provide an amount of ease and casualness due to them not really knowing much about him. Getting to his feet, he set off for his destination, feeling hope settle in his chest. 

"Oi! Cyn! C'mere a minute, wouldja?" 

He let a grin crawl across his face for the first time in a while when he saw the girl spot him from where she was walking with her friends out the front of her school, looking for a spot to hang out during lunch before smiling in recognition, separating from the group (who began to whisper and gossip excitedly at the sight of John on the other side of the school gates, waiting impatiently) and coming up to him. Her bleached blonde hair was tied up in a loose bun, and she looked pleased but surprised to see him, which eased John's nerves a little. 

"Hey, John," she greeted, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear as she watched him curiously from the other side of the fence. "are you okay? You look a bit tired. What're you doing here?"

"Wanna ditch and come get lunch? I'll pay." 

"Oh- sure." She replied eventually, smiling a little, then gesturing to her group of friends. "Let me just tell them."

"Okay." He nodded, watching as Cynthia hurried away and spoke to her friends, trying to dismiss their obviously prying questions and waving them goodbye. She then left them and made her way through the gates, glancing around to make sure she wasn't spotted before the pair left the scene. 

"So, what brings you here to ask me to lunch?" She inquired as they strolled down the street, crossing her arms over her chest and smiling at him in amusement. 

He shrugged a little. "Just wanted some company. Is that so bad?"

"Not bad, just.. curious." She shrugged her shoulders as well, kicking at a loose rock as they went. "Are you sure you're okay? You're deathly pale, and you look like you've barely slept." She gently touched his arm for a moment, gazing at him in concern; he avoided her eyes, feeling uncomfortable at her worry for him. It always made him uncomfortable when people pointed out if he looked bad or unwell. "Are you sick?"

"Nothin'. 'S okay." He replied curtly. "I'm fine. Just hungry." 

"Alright." She settled on that eventually, not pressing the issue further, which came as a relief to John. It was strange, compared to Paul, at least - Paul was a stubborn bastard and would continue to pester and ask until he would end up threatening to smash his guitar over his head if he didn't shut it. Cynthia never did that. 

"How are you, Cyn? Has anythin' interesting happened lately?" He turned to her with a raise of an eyebrow.

"Oh, alright, really. Been looking at colleges and things," She spoke nonchalantly, but a shy smile began to form on her lips, cheeks dusting pink. "Oh, and I have a boyfriend now." 

"Really?" His other brow shot up, and he grinned and patted her on the shoulder, feeling happy for her. "That's gear. Congrats, Cyn. Who is he?"

"His name's David. He's really sweet and funny, about a year or two older than me. He's a mechanic." She grinned wider, gazing at him with joy sparking in her eyes. "I- was worried for a moment that you'd be upset or something if I told you."

"Nah, why would I be?" He chuckled, shaking his head. "'Long as he treats you well, then I'm happy for ya." He was genuine in those words. It made him glad to know that Cynthia had successfully moved on and found someone better fit for her. He had been worried for a time that she'd been more upset than she probably actually was about their breakup. But knowing this eased his mind. 

The pair had eventually reached the café that John had in mind, and they made their way inside, choosing a nice table against the wall and ordering their food. John wasn't really hungry, only picking a small tea and a slice of cake, while Cynthia got eggs and bacon on toast with orange juice. They chatted idly about a few things while they ate, though John relished the comfortable silence that befell upon them. Cynthia was always a calming presence for him, kind and warm and making him feel more at ease, in a way. He wanted to tell her what was happening. He needed to tell someone, to tell the truth and confide in someone... he wouldn't be able to tell the whole truth, of course - that would never end well - but he felt compelled to at least open up to her about the situation. She was such an understanding girl, and he felt she would be able to help him feel a bit better at least, just by listening to what he had to say. The Paul situation was driving him crazy, and he just wanted to tell someone how he felt, someone who wouldn't judge him, but didn't know him well enough to know the true meaning behind it.

"Are you really sure you're okay? I can tell something's on your mind, John." She spoke up, interrupting his train of thought. He met her earnest gaze and swallowed thickly, suddenly nervous. How would he go about it all? 

"Um.. I dunno, Cyn, I just.." he began, running a hand down his face before resting his head on it. "I've been havin' troubles with somethin' lately." 

"What is it?" She prompted, smiling at him warmly and resting a hand on his wrist, showing that she was willing to listen. He smiled carefully at her. "You can tell me. I won't mind."

"Well-" John sighed, leaning back in his chair. He then launched into the story. "It's just. I like this girl, right? I just really like her a lot. But.. I dunno- she's different. I can't just go up to her and charm her like I do with anyone else, it.. it doesn't work like that. But she's just fuckin' amazing, and so talented and hilarious. H- um, she," he almost used the word "he", but managed to catch his slip up, his heart almost skipping a beat in terror. "is super stubborn, though. And I am too. And.. we're both really bad at communicatin' what we want." He chuckled fondly. "But somethin' happened when we were both drunk- like we kissed and that, but... h- she didn't remember it, or at least I thought she didn't. She'd been avoidin' me, but I'd been avoidin' hi- her at first because I was upset that she didn't remember, then she eventually told me that she remembered what happened." He felt melancholy rise in his throat like bile, and he took a sip of his rapidly cooling tea to try and shove it down. "But.. she seemed to regret it. What happened. She was scared and upset- and- and she's been avoidin' me since." He grew self conscious at the fact that Cynthia had been watching him the entire time, and he coughed nervously and kept his gaze fixed on the table below him. It felt strange to use she and her when he was really talking about Paul. It felt strange to be talking about it in the first place, right in the open, even if he was disguising it as some mysterious random girl and not a boy who he'd had a feud with then slowly befriended. "I don't know what to do. I feel like it's all fallen apart, and that I've lost her over this thing that she probably feels is a stupid mistake that h-sh-she never meant to make in the first place.. that she doesn't even want to be friends with me anymore because of it." 

Cynthia sat in silence, slowly finishing the last of her food; her gaze was thoughtful, and her fingers tapped absentmindedly on the table as the gears seemingly turned in her head. He waited with wide eyes for her reaction, fingers fiddling anxiously - he just hoped his almost slip ups weren't too obvious and she had worked out what he had really meant and was going to be grossed out.

"I'm sorry about all that, John, really." She smiled sadly at him. "It sounds like a lot to deal with, and I can see why you're so stressed. But.. I think things have a way of working themselves out in the end. I can see you really like this girl, in a way that seems stronger than most-" her eyes glinted knowingly. "she probably likes you too. Why would she have kissed you in the first place? She might think you regret it too, y'know. I think you should try to talk it out with her- only when you're ready for it, of course. But I think you should try to work it out. Don't leave it to fester and rot away until it becomes all the more bigger than it really is; but I think that it'll work out in the end. You're a smart guy, John. And I'm sure she's smart too. You guys will probably work things out." 

He blinked a few times, almost shocked at her really smart advice. He thought he'd get a few "aw, I'm sorry"'s and "I'm sure it's fine", but she gave him more than that. Then he reminded himself not to be surprised - it was Cynthia, after all. She was an extremely intelligent girl.   
A grateful grin overtook his face.

"Thanks, Cyn." He nudged her arm playfully. "You're great. Seriously." 

"Take care of yourself, John." She sighed a little wistfully. The two got to their feet, John leaving a few pounds on the table - she stood in front of him with a sad smile. "You're a better person than you think."

His bed was a welcome space from the constant cold weather of the outside when he eventually made it back home. He stripped himself of his school shoes, tie and blazer before slipping between the inviting sheets, curling up underneath them and letting his eyelids fall shut.   
After they had eaten lunch at the café, Cynthia left to go back to school after they shared a emotional hug and goodbye, and John was left by himself to walk back home. He was unwilling to go back to school; he was drained of energy, and all he longed to do was just sleep. He did go back to the campus, though, only briefly - just to talk to George and Ringo and make up for his behaviour. He didn't tell them exactly what had been going on, just that him and Paul had had a row and they were upset at each other, but they would make up soon. They obviously didn't take what he said at face value, but they accepted his apology gratefully, and told him they were there for him if he needed anything. He left them to go back home, where Mimi was boiling some soup; she was upset that he had left school early, but when he just pulled her into a hug without another word spoken, she gently held him back. She then told him to go upstairs and sleep since he looked a bit peaky, and he followed her instructions for once in his life. The last few days had been the biggest emotional roller coaster probably since his mother died, and he felt absolutely spent in every facet. He wondered briefly what Paul was doing. Did he really regret what had happened on John's eighteenth birthday? Was he willing to give up their friendship because of it? John tried not to think about it too much more, knowing it would just work him up and he'd end up lamenting over it again for hours on end. 

He would just have to see how things panned out over the next weeks - John only hoped that Paul would be willing to put it behind them and they could move on with their friendship, and that he wouldn't destroy it completely.

With that thought in mind, he sunk into the depths of sleep.


	23. 23 ;; absence

"Me hair is ruined now!"

"I think you've already ruined it with how much bloody Vaseline you put in it." 

"Hey! I had ta keep it in place." 

John listened with amusement to George and Ringo bicker endlessly on their way to the bus stop the day after he met up with Cynthia. Usually they would just walk, but due to the weather, they decided that catching the bus would be more ideal. He clutched tightly onto the the umbrella he'd stolen from that café long ago, shielding himself from the constant downpour of freezing rain - but George had forgotten one himself, and now he had to run ahead to stand under shop roofs and avoid the water that etched itself into every nook and cranny. He chuckled as he watched the stick-like boys' carefully styled quiff begin to deflate with each passing minute, stray locks detaching themselves from the group and hanging over his forehead. It seemed even shinier than it was with just the grease alone - John could've mistaken it for plastic doll hair. Rain was becoming more and more regular each day; it was mid October in Liverpool, though, so of course the weather was like that. He enjoyed the rain for the most part, anyway. It was fun to run around in, and he always was the master of jumping in puddles as a kid. 

"Are you guys done arguing like a married couple?" John interrupted George's whining rant, who seemed in distress as he ran his hands through his hair in vain attempt to fix it. 

"Shut up, John!" They both spoke in unison, causing the pair to snap their gazes to each other with red cheeks, while John burst into laughter at the sight.

"Never mind. Psychically connected married couple, then." He smirked, twirling his umbrella between his hands. The auburn-haired boy then began to dance stupidly as they walked along, twirling his umbrella back and forth as he did so - making people around them glare at him and try to avoid him, but he only cared that he made George and Ringo laugh. An idea formed in his head, and he flashed an impish grin towards his friends, making them send him a look that screamed "oh no, what the hell are you going to do now?". 

"I'm siiiingin' in the rain.." He leapt up onto a nearby lamppost, mimicking Gene Kelly in Singin' In The Rain as he continued to twirl his umbrella around and skip along, stupid grin on his face. "Just siiingin' in the rain! What a glorious feelin'- I'm happy again," 

"Encore, encore!" George cheered jokingly as they went, Ringo clapping his hands together and whistling.

"I'm laughin' at clouds!-" His singing voice grew more and more goofy as he went, and he barely paid attention to the fact that he was garnering stares from passersby as he danced and sung, flinging his umbrella around wildly and basically hitting people in the face. It was a joyful sight, and he felt finally more okay than he had felt in a while; seeing his friends double over with laughter as he continued to display his regular stupid shenanigans gave him more joy than he thought it would.   
The three eventually made it to the bus stop in time, and they promptly got on, glad to be out of the pouring rain - John was now soaked to the skin due to the fact that he'd been dancing like a lunatic, obviously, and he shook himself like a dog that had just emerged from water, showering everything in a metres' distance with droplets. Water expelled from his body and leaked all over the bus floor as they made their way further inside, much to the drivers' irritation; he was unaware, though, due to another pressing issue that was occupying his mind.

He had wanted to avoid getting on the bus due to this particular issue. Kevin and all of his friends would catch it to go to school, and it was one reason why him and Ringo stopped getting on it and decided to walk to school instead - to avoid those people in particular. And there they were, sitting at the back, their raucous chatter basically drowning out everyone else's with its volume, smoking away and filling the bus with blue haze. Stuart and Pete Shotton were seemingly absent from the group, John noticed.

"Fuckin' hell." George cursed, smacking a hand to his forehead.

"Right." Ringo agreed. 

"Let's just sit up at the front. Don't look at 'em." John quickly diverted his gaze away from the group, and they all crammed into seats right at the very front row, John up against the window and Ringo on the end, skinny George squeezed in the middle. Staring out at the blurry passing scenery, the almond-eyed boy was faintly reminded of when him and Ringo caught the bus on the first day back to school.   
Well, they didn't really catch it; more like leapt up onto the roof and high tailed it to the academy. He still remembered the intense wind tearing at his skin, trying to take puffs of his cigarette and watching the smoke be instantly swept up and out of sight. Ringo's voice echoed in his ears: "Shit! If we die up here, Lennon, I'm gonna kill you!"   
A sudden chuckle bubbled from his lips, which caught George and Ringo's attention. 

"What's got you laughin'?"

"Oh. Just rememberin'- Rings, you remember the first day of school, yeah?" He turned to his best friend with a grin. Ringo furrowed his brows, looking a bit bewildered.

"Not really. What happened?"

"We jumped on the back of the bus and climbed onto the roof to get to school, remember??" He exclaimed, snickering. "You were terrified for yer life."

Recognition filled Ringo's gaze, and he burst into laughter himself, shaking his head. "Oh god, I remember! I genuinely was worried the bars would break and I'd just go flyin'. I remember threatenin' to kill ya if we died."

"If we died, then how would you kill me?" He inquired cheekily.

"I don't care, I'll kill yer ghost!"

"I remember that happenin' too!" George proclaimed suddenly, causing them to stop bickering and turn to him curiously. 

"You were there?" John furrowed his brows.

"Yeah, 'cause me and Paul were in the bus and we saw you guys climb up! We were like; who the fuck are these two?? It was hilarious." George laughed, reaching into his pocket to pull out a cigarette packet.

John couldn't help but ask a particular question.   
"How did Paul react to it?" His voice came out shyer than he'd expected, and he cleared his throat in embarrassment, trying to ignore his flushing cheeks. 

George tapped his chin thoughtfully as he expelled smoke from his lips. "He was really curious as to who you guys were, but he was sort of irritated. I remember him sayin' "Ugh, stupid teds showin' off," all grumpy like." 

John chortled at that. Typical of Paul. But the idea that Paul had seen him then, climbing on the top of the bus like a madman, and wondering who he was? It made his heart beat fast with trepidation, albeit slight excitement, too. 

"We weren't showin' off!" Ringo protested straight away.

"You totally were." The youngest of the group rolled his eyes, taking a drag of his cig with an unimpressed look.

The azure-eyed boy relented, leaning back in his seat. "Yeah, we were." 

The bus had pulled to a halt by then with a gut-wrenching shriek of the breaks, and they all got to their feet and prepared to run out into the rain again, which had seemed to only worsen since they'd gotten on it. John had almost forgotten that Kevin and his goons were still on the bus with them, and when he heard a vindictive "Lennon! Nice to see you and yer little friends here." he rushed to get off the vehicle, not willing to put up with anything from them at the moment (he also didn't trust his self control in not punching the bastard for the second time). 

"What, not gonna face us?" One of the boys from the group called to them, and John felt a bolt of anger surge through his skin - it seemed George and Ringo were feeling the same way themselves, the formers' gaze darkening even more than usual. Just keep walking, he told himself determinedly. don't turn around and kick him in the balls.  
He eventually settled on just sending them the middle finger, hearing their laughter and jeers only making him smirk more as the three pushed their way inside the building. 

"Ugh. When are they gonna give it up? They're so fuckin' annoying." Ringo complained as they made their way through the sea of kids and to their lockers, beginning to work their locks to get their things for class.

"Who knows? What I know is I don't give a shit what they think." George harrumphed, gathering his books for maths into his thin arms. John's gaze wandered along, seemingly searching for something; eventually settling on Paul's locker, across the hall from them. It was still covered in the scathing, cruel words written when he'd first came to the school, but had been partially cleaned off for the most part. Seeing Paul's pained eyes after watching him discover the words was terrifying, even then. No one deserved anything like that, least of all Paul. He didn't deserve that kind of bullying at all. He didn't deserve John being a queer freak and harbouring feelings for him, either. He deserved better. 

"Paul not here again?" George's voice sounded next to him, startling John slightly. He shook his head despondently, crossing his arms as he leant on the lockers behind him.

"Looks like it." Ringo commented, words soft and laced with sympathy. 

The gloomy-eyed boy seemed to deflate, looking very much disheartened as he slowly shut his locker, locking it. John felt a pang of mixed guilt and sympathy, and he managed a tight smile before placing a hand on his shoulder.

"'S okay. He'll be back soon." He spoke words of what he hoped was comfort. "The dork loves schoolwork too much to be away from it for too long." He joked. 

George eyed him with a slowly growing smile, gaze sparkling gratefully at John. It made his heart soar with relief, glad that his friend didn't seem to blame him for Paul's absence.   
"Yeah, true."

"Now let's get to maths. I feel like pissing off teachers today." They all laughed at that.

For the majority of the day, John sat through his classes sorely missing Paul's presence. He would be only half-listening to the teacher droning on about something or other, and would turn to his left or right about to mention something funny or joke to Paul, but then he'd freeze when he was greeted with empty seats, or maybe George or Ringo. He was glad that they were there, yes, but Paul being missing from the equation was beginning to seriously weigh down on him. He was used to having the boy around almost every day at that point, and now that he had suddenly vanished and hadn't even turned up one single day yet of that school week tugged on John's aching heart more and more. His brain would, of course, immediately go to the self-loathing conclusion of Paul must really not want to see him if he was willing to jeopardise his education and not attend school for almost an entire week. He remembered George mentioning that he had been there on Tuesday, though. John wished he could've pulled himself together in time to get to school that day. But it might've prompted Paul to run off anyway; he figured the younger boy didn't want to face him because he was a queer freak and didn't want to give him the wrong idea.   
John just let out a despondent sigh, letting his head fall onto the desk and his eyelids to fall shut. School was infinitely more boring now that he didn't have Paul to talk to. 

"Mr. Lennon."  
The teacher began sternly; John didn't bother lifting his head to look.

"Mm." He murmured in response.

"Sit up, for god's sake! Pay attention to the lesson." 

"Yeah, yeah.." he sighed, forcing himself to lift his head up and instead just rest his elbow on the table then his head in his hand, looking unimpressed at the front - though the teacher was just a somewhat blurry figure, since he wasn't wearing his glasses.

"Now, as I was saying.." 

John was very much eager to leave the campus as the final bell rung - he unceremoniously shoved his books into his locker, Ringo and George following closely behind before the three of them left as quickly as possible. He couldn't stand one more second in that godforsaken place. Once they made it into the outside, John noticed that the weather seemed to have cleared a little, though the slight wind was still quite cold. He was glad that he'd worn a scarf that day. The three of them passed Kevin and his gang as they made their way through the front gates, but luckily they seemed preoccupied in annoying other students and didn't notice them. John was sticking a cigarette between his lips, about to ask his friends for a lighter since he'd thrown his own one that had stopped working away that one time sitting behind the footy stands, when they spoke to him first.

"We're goin' to the chippy. Wanna come'ead?" George suggested, raising an eyebrow.

John blinked, before shrugging, deciding to tag along. It had been a while since he'd hung out with them outside of school.

"Sure. Do either of yous' have a lighter?" 

"Yeah, here." Ringo fished one from his pocket, and John gratefully lit up his cigarette, making a mental reminder for himself that he needed to buy a new lighter. Taking the first drag, they then set off down the street to a staple place in their outing-locations. A staple for most youth of that time, really. 

They made small talk for the most part of their walk, getting there pretty quickly due to the fact that the shop wasn't very far away from Quarrybank; it was pretty crowded already with mainly kids their age having come there after school, and they recognised a few kids as they waited in line to order.

"I'm starvin'!" George exclaimed, eyeing other people's food with a hungry gaze. John almost expected him to snatch a few chips from them while they waited like a seagull. 

"Where's the surprise?" Ringo joked, chuckling when he got a whack on the arm in response.

"I'll shout for you guys, if you want?" John turned to them. "Y'know, to make up for.. bein' a dick to you guys lately." His voice grew smaller with each word, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. It was always hard for him to admit fault.

His friends smiled fondly at him, Ringo throwing an arm around his shoulders.  
"No worries, mate." 

"Just don't fuck up my milkshake and we're good." George stated matter-of-factly. They all burst into giggles at that - typical George. John grinned widely at him. He was glad he had him as a friend. Both of them, really. They were the best friends he could ever ask for. The only thing they needed was Paul back by their side; then everything could return to normal. Without Paul, nothing was quite right in their group. It had to be the four of them - John knew it, deep inside him. The four of them together. That's when he'd felt most content.

Eventually the line dwindled down until he was at the front - he ordered their food, then he stood to the side to wait for it while George and Ringo snagged a table at the very back, a spot they usually liked to get if they could. Their food arrived relatively quickly, then he hurried over to his friends and they all tucked in, feeling starving after an immensely life-draining day of school. John felt incredibly starving, since he'd sort of neglected eating properly the last few days, and he knew he needed to catch up on it before he would make himself sick. 

"Yay! You got vanilla with extra cream like I asked." George exclaimed cheerfully, sipping on his drink with a satisfied noise. 

"Could I have a taste?" Ringo asked innocently, and George willingly handed it over to him. John almost gasped in shock. George sharing his food with other people?? Impossible! If John or Paul had asked for any, he would've said no way, of course. He smirked a little, nudging his older friend as he popped another chip in his mouth. Ringo must've got him bad if he's willing to do that. 

"What?" Ringo hissed in his ear, raising a questioning eyebrow. John just impishly smirked back, raising both his bushy brows as if to say "Duh. It's obvious." Ringo seemed to understand, and he just scoffed, rolling his eyes as he took one last sip of George's drink before handing it back to him - thank god the youngest of the group seemed too occupied with his food to be interested in what they were saying. 

"He probably doesn't, John. You're just seein' things." He whispered.

"Bullshit!" John chortled. "If George is willin' to share his food with someone, he's basically ready to propose." 

Ringo blushed madly and ducked his head, gaze fixed on the table. "Shut up." 

"No. George likes you."

"For fucks' sake-" 

"I hope you guys aren't whisperin' about me over there." George piped up, interrupting their whisper-argument-debate as he stared at them curiously, munching on his fish. 

"No! No, 'course not." Ringo spoke a little too quickly, forcing a chuckle as his cheeks reddened even more. George blinked once, eyeing him with slight suspicion before shrugging and going back to eating. Great going, Ritch, you twit, John thought to himself with a roll of his eyes. It was quite amusing though, to watch two people pine over each other and be too stupid or denying for their own good to do anything about it. 

They finished up their food pretty quickly, but decided to linger there a bit longer to keep chatting before George spoke up about needing to go home. 

"I've got to go before it gets dark, lads. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?" He smiled warmly at them. 

"Yeah, see ya, Geo." Ringo grinned, the two sharing a hug - that was a little too long for most peoples' standards - before parting. John said his goodbyes by ruffling George's hair, a common thing he liked to do to annoy him (which he definitely succeeded in doing every time) and they watched as the boy made his way down the street and eventually disappeared. 

John was about to turn to Ringo to say goodbye, but out of nowhere he was suddenly pulled into a lung-smothering hug, making him freeze for a moment before holding him back.

"I'm glad you're back." Ringo said as they parted, grinning at him widely. John felt his heart swell with joy, and he grinned back just as widely. His friends' tone grew serious though, and he poked a finger to John's chest. "Don't pull any more stupid stunts like getting' drunk on a Sunday night and not comin' home until mornin'. Scaring the livin' daylights out of everyone." 

"How do you know about that?" He blinked in shock.

"Mimi told me when I called about you." 

"Ugh, Mimi.." John groaned, running a hand down his face. 

Ringo smiled at him, shaking his head a little as if to say "you idiot", though his gaze sparkled fondly at him.  
"I'm here. If you need anythin'." He paused. "And.. you should maybe try talkin' to Paul. I know it might be hard if you guys had a row-" He cut in quickly when he saw John opening his mouth to protest. "but it's killing Geo that he isn't showin' up at school- Paul's not really talkin' to anyone in general. Not just you."

John nodded sadly. He knew he had to - if not for him and Paul's friendship, for George and Ringo.   
"Yeah.. I know. I better do it." 

"Thanks, Johnny. I hope it works out for you guys." He nudged him slightly. "I know you really like him, and I can see he likes you too." John disagreed with the last part, but Ringo went on. "Don't let it fall apart over this one thing."  
He was reminded faintly of Cynthia's advice from the day before, and he nodded determinedly, fixed on his new mission. He couldn't let it get any worse than it already had.

"I'll see him tomorrow after school."

Ringo patted him on the back with one last comforting smile. "Good. I'll see ya later." 

"Bye." 

With that, Ringo left, and John turned to the opposite direction to make his own way home, heart light with struggling hope. 

John slipped out of his school attire as soon as he got home - not before greeting Mimi and talking to her for a little bit, wanting to reassure her that he was okay - and he spent the rest of the evening rereading Alice In Wonderland, his absolute favourite book. It was just something he could read over and over again and never get bored of it. Eventually he had dinner with Mimi, though didn't have too much since he'd had fish and chips not too long ago, then he went upstairs to work on his song for a bit longer before eventually succumbing to exhaustion and getting ready for bed. He was pulling on some pyjama pants, lost in thoughts of Paul as he pulled off his shirt to replace it with a plain white tee. How would he react when he showed up and tried to talk to him? Would he tell him to piss off? He had no idea what would happen. But he was determined to try anyway.

The auburn-haired boy gaped his mouth in a yawn before folding his notebook and chucking it on his cluttered desk, gently placing his guitar on the chair in front of it before crawling into the sheets. He reached to switch off his lamp and got comfortable, resting his head on his pillow. He just hoped his thoughts wouldn't overrun him and he would be able to have a good sleep, which seemed rarer and rarer these days.   
But it seemed that the world decided he could live without it for just a while longer.

His eyelids were just beginning to fall shut when there was an oh-so-familiar tink. His eyes shot open, but he didn't move, waiting for any more noise. And sure enough, there was another tink, tink, and he was suddenly faced with déjà vu to a week or two before. The night Paul came around wanting to know what his secret was. He slowly sat up. John was almost scared to go to the window, where he saw yet another pebble being thrown to his window, knowing who it was behind it all. No one else would do it except him. 

He got to his feet at a snail's pace. He slowly made his way to his desk, where the window sat facing over it, and he wrenched it open, eyes squeezed shut. He then tore them open to see who it was, outside standing in the garden for a second time. 

Paul smiled sheepishly from below. 

"Let me in?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhEEHEHa cliffhanger 😌


	24. 24 ;; resolving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :))

"Well. Fancy seein' you again."

There was a tense pause as John continued to stare intensely down at the younger boy from his bedroom window, hands resting on the windowsill, fingertips tapping randomly in his anxiety. Paul didn't respond, gaze darting to the side as if he was embarrassed - but the auburn-haired boy couldn't see him well enough from where he was, due to not wearing his glasses in that moment.   
"Been a while, innit?" He raised a single bushy brow questioningly when Paul continued to stay silent, only the sound of tree branches rattling in the wind and a distant revving of a car accompanying him. 

There was a dejected, exhausted sigh from the younger boy, before he spoke again. John squinted his eyes further to try and study his features, but he then gave up, knowing that he wouldn't be able to from there.  
"Yeah. Please.. I just need to talk to you. Let me in," Paul's voice even took on a pleading tone, and the almond-eyed boy relented, knowing he couldn't deny him anything when he sounded so despondent. All he could think was "why is he here now?".

"Fine. Mimi's still up, so you need to climb up the pipe." He waved a hand in the direction of the pipe that ran up next to his window.

"What? Oh, Jesus.." The raven-haired boy groaned before complying, latching onto the pipe and beginning to shimmy his way up, struggling a few times since he didn't really have any upper arm strength - but eventually he reached John's window, and the older boy gripped onto him to help him inside and over his desk, almost falling over each other in the process. Luckily, Paul made it in safely, and John quickly let go of him as if he'd been burned before taking a step back and sitting on his bed, gaze fixed on the ground; he felt the younger's eyes on him, though, while he stood on the other side of the room, noticing the way his fingers fiddled with each other nervously in his peripheral vision. He fumbled for his glasses that had been strewn somewhere on his desk before slipping them on, finally forcing himself to look at him.   
His breath hitched when he saw Paul's state.   
The younger boy's eyes were glazed with tiredness, and dark circles ringed them, while his expression was pulled taut as if he'd been frowning or grimacing in stress for a long time. A pang of sympathy shot through John in that moment, and he let out a soft sigh. Seems like he wasn't the only one having sleepless nights.

"I guess yer not here just to say hello and have a cup of tea, then?" He half-joked, nasal voice cutting through the silence and sounding a little strange to his own ears. Was Paul here to make up with him about what had happened? He hoped so. He didn't want their relationship to fall apart because of what had happened.

The younger boy chuckled humourlessly at that.   
"I guess not." There was a tense pause between them, John stubbornly staying silent - Paul eventually spoke again, looking more conflicted than he'd ever seen him. It worried John a little. "I just.. I needed to talk to you, okay? I couldn't- I couldn't stay away from you anymore."

The almond-eyed boy swallowed thickly, nervously pushing his Buddy Holly glasses further up his nose out of habit, even though there wasn't any need for it. His mind went to hopeful places at those last words - hoping that maybe, just maybe.. Paul could feel the same way.

"I need to say- I'm sorry. For everythin' that's happened. I was scared, and - I didn't know what to do. I had to.. have some time away." Paul's words became slightly strained, seemingly having trouble getting the words out, cheeks flushing as if he was embarrassed to admit how he really felt. 

"George and Rings are really worried for ya, y'know. You gave us all quite a scare." John stated matter-of-factly, reaching to nab his cigarettes and slip one out of the foil packaging. 

"I know.. it was stupid." The raven-haired boy sighed again, crossing his arms over his chest as he stood there - John noticed he was wearing some beaten black and white runners with worn out jeans, and a black t-shirt with a woolly orange jumper over the top. "I just knew that if I hung out with them they'd ask questions about everythin' and I wouldn't be able to answer them properly, 'cause I knew they'd see right through my bullshit. And.. I-" He paused. "I didn't-"

"You didn't want to face me, either." John finished for him, shakily lighting his cigarette and staring at his lap to hide his sorrow from him. 

"I still wanted to see you, John. Really badly.." Paul started, taking a step towards him and urging John to look at him; John swallowed thickly, heart beat picking up speed as he saw the raw emotions shining in the other's eyes. "I was only worried about what you thought of me. I didn't want to face the disgust in yer eyes I was sure I'd see.. or you avoidin' me again. I thought you'd been avoidin' me at first because you were.. you regretted what had happened. And then when I confessed I remembered, I was terrified you'd be even more grossed out- and you'd tell George or Ringo or somethin', and I'd be done for. I'd lose all of you as friends 'cause of it." His voice became more and more choked with each word, and John shook his head quickly, shooting to his feet in an instant.

"That's not true." Smoke expelled from his mouth as he spoke, and he slowly stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on his desk, all without breaking eye contact with Paul for a single second. "You know that we'll stick by you no matter what." His voice grew softer as he took a miniscule step closer to the other boy. "You know I wouldn't do that to you."

Paul stared back at him with just as much intensity.   
"Do you not.. you don't regret it?"

He took yet another step closer, and now there was only a centimetre left of space between them. Every hair on John's neck was standing up, and his heart was racing erratically in his chest, so fast that he was worried it would tear from his ribcage, thoughts exploding and running through his mind, screaming "oh my god is it really happening" and "don't even try to fuck this up, John, I swear to god-", and his mouth went as dry as sand when Paul's hands slowly came up to rest on his shoulders, gathering the material of his white t-shirt into his grip. 

He swallowed thickly, hearing his blood roaring in his ears as he continued to stare back at Paul, who stared back with a wide, nervous gaze, plump lips parted as his eyes darted to John's lips.

"Can.. can I kiss you?" John's voice came out hoarse and quiet, and his stomach surged with a terrified excitement when the younger boy nodded fervently, breath quickening as his gaze darted back to his eyes. With that, he took the permission and slowly tilted his head forward, eyelids fluttering shut - and then their lips connected. It was a shy, brief kiss, and Paul's nose knocked awkwardly against the auburn-haired boys' glasses before they parted, barely moving away. Seizing his courage, John hastily cupped Paul's face and pulled him right back in for another one, both more sure of themselves this time; Paul's hands wandered to John's lower back, where he gripped onto the skin tightly, while John's hand carded through his thick, freshly washed sable locks, the other tentatively resting on his hip. Every sense he possessed was on heightened and on fire, nerves buzzing and tingling, and he could feel Paul's heart thudding crazily against his own chest. His longing fantasies, things he only allowed himself to imagine in the privacy of his room, late at night - it seemed to be becoming true. He knew this wasn't some dream, though; the press of Paul's lips moving against his own was too real, his hands wandering along John's body too present, the way his hair felt in his hands proving that it was real life. 

Paul was the first to pull away from the kiss, sucking in a shaky breath as he let his eyelids fly open, staring back at John with eyes that shone so brightly and a dopey smile that made his stomach swoop with butterflies all over again. They let their foreheads gently rest against the others', never leaving their tightly-knit embrace. John didn't even realise that Paul was now pressed up against the wall.  
"I couldn't stay away from you any longer. I couldn't keep me feelings to meself-" The younger boy began, voice thick and husky as he traced John's shoulder blades with his fingertips. 

John laughed ecstatically, feeling so lightheaded from their intense kiss that he swore he could've floated to the ceiling like a balloon. He could barely process what had even happened. Paul actually felt the same way about him and they were kissing and John could barely believe what he was seeing before him-

"Me too.." He laughed even more, cheeks beginning to hurt with how widely he was grinning. "I can't believe what's happenin' right now-" Paul shut him up with a chaste kiss, to which John gladly obliged, feet stumbling over each other as he was slowly pushed backwards, letting out a yelp against the younger boy's lips when the back of his knees hit his bed and he promptly fell onto it with Paul following, sucking in a shocked breath when Paul's knee rested between his thighs, forcing them apart as they continued to kiss, not able to let go of each other for one moment - John was determined to make up for lost time. Now that he had Paul within his grasp, he was not going to let go anytime soon.

"Jesus," He spoke against the younger's lips, trying to adjust his glasses that had fallen askew. He wanted to see Paul properly, imprint his vision of the boy in his mind, knowing he wouldn't forget it for a long time yet. "You've no idea how long I wanted this." He couldn't help but grin again as he watched the boy hovering above him; his endlessly dark hair fallen apart from its original style, hanging over his droopy eyes that gazed back at him, always so expressive and full of life - dark lashes casting shadows across his deeply flushed cheeks in the darkness, plump lips (that John actually had kissed!!!) tinged red from kissing and pulled up in a permanent smile. That was a sight that he certainly could get used to.

"You're so fuckin' beautiful.." He couldn't help but blurt out those words, and felt his cheeks flame even more in embarrassment as he spoke them, gaze darting to the side. But Paul's hand that gently grabbed his chin and turned his head to look at him, the younger boy gazing at him with such an open, sincere expression expelled all the doubts from his mind.

"Look who's talkin'." Paul grinned. 

John scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Yer daft."

"John.." His giggle was his new favourite music. "You really are blind. In more ways than the literal term."

He blinked up at him shyly, his mind always casting doubts as it often did - his tongue darted out to lick his lips nervously, and he couldn't help but ask anyway.  
"You're serious?"

Paul ran his hand through his auburn curls, expression so fond as he looked at him that John forgot how to breathe for a moment.  
"Of course, Johnny." The nickname made him blush even more.

"Y'know.. fuckin' hell, we're such colossal fuckin' idiots, aren't we?" The older boy chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. 

"We are!" The raven-haired boy laughed joyously, though he bit his lip nervously as he spoke his next words. "I was so terrified that... that you didn't-" This time it was John's turn to shut him up with a kiss. 

"Don't worry about it." He grinned, giving the boys' lips one last peck before letting his head fall back against the mattress. "I guess we're just criminally bad at communicatin'." They both giggle again at that. Paul seemed about to speak when there was a shuffling that caused them both to fall silent, listening intently - then there was footsteps that were ascending the stairs, and he heard Mimi call out "John?", causing them to both freeze in terror, gazes locking. 

"Shit! We were too loud," He cursed, Paul scrambling off of him as John quickly sat up, scanning the room in order to find a place in which the younger could hide. He then finally realised, and quickly gestured to the underside of his bed. "Quick. Get under the bed." Paul complied, sliding under it just in time as the door to his bedroom was flung open, a slightly annoyed but bewildered Mimi looking around before settling on John. He quickly grabbed his notebook, pretending to be flicking through it as he sat up against the headboard of the bed. 

"Jesus, ever heard of knockin'?" He turned to her, trying to keep a straight face. This time it was Paul's turn to hide from parents.

"I heard talking. What were you doing?" She narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion, crossing her arms over her chest. 

"Oh, I was just.. talkin' to meself. Practicin' me song-" He heard a muffled snort come from Paul, still as stone under his bed, and he quickly disguised it as him coughing, trying to fight the urge to laugh himself. 

She didn't move for a few seconds, only raising an eyebrow, obviously unconvinced; but eventually she seemed to buy it, and she let her arms fall to her side.  
"Okay.. don't stay up too late, please. You need to catch up on your sleep after your whole drunken night out fiasco." She scolded him, but he could see that her eyes glinted in concern - he had genuinely scared and worried her when that had happened, and it made his stomach churn with guilt.

"Yeah, I know." His voice came out quieter than he'd intended.

"Goodnight, John," The corner of her lips pulled up in a smile for a brief moment, and she began to make her way out of his room; he called a goodbye of his own as she left. As soon as he heard her footsteps descending the stairs, he let out a tired sigh of relief, and he heard shuffling as Paul emerged from under his bed, feeling the mattress dip slightly as he sat next to him.

"Drunken night out fiasco?" Paul echoed what Mimi had said, but sounded more sad about it.

John turned away from him, feeling his throat close up in embarrassment. 

"I pulled some stupid stunt on Sunday. I got absolutely piss-hammered at the pub and woke up in a hotel bed the next mornin'." He decided not to mention the fact that he'd woken up with some bird beside him, and a bird that looked exactly like Paul, too.

The younger boy's gaze softened, and he pulled him into a hug, burying his head in his shoulder.  
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-" he muttered, anguished, into his skin, but John quickly cut him off, holding onto him just as tightly.

"Shut up. Stop apologising, you dickhead." He chuckled, and Paul pulled away to giggle himself, both gazing into each others' eyes again. John let out the softest of sighs, reaching up to cup the youngers' cheek with a tentative hand; he watched the way he leaned into the touch, nuzzling into it similarly to a cat. He grinned, half expecting him to purr or something. But he was caught by surprise when Paul captured his lips in a kiss once again, and he wrapped his hand around the base of his neck, feeling the wispy hairs from his nape tickle his fingers. 

"Can I stay here tonight? Please.." Paul pleaded when they eventually parted, and John smiled warmly at him.

"Of course. Do you think I'll send you back out into the cold?" 

He chuckled at that, and John watched him with a fond grin as Paul shed his feet of his shoes before crawling his way to him, pulling the covers up over the both of them. He gladly snaked his arms around Paul as the younger curled up next to him, head resting on his shoulder and grinned when he smiled shyly at him; they shared a few more affectionate kisses as they lay curled up together. No matter what, every single kiss they shared made John's heart leap with excitement and his stomach to churn with so many mixed emotions. It seemed their relationship ended up turning out alright, in the end. Well, more alright than John had ever thought would happen, really.

"I'll wake up early, go home so I'll be back before da' notices." Paul sighed in content as John wormed his hand up his shirt, resting comfortingly on his bare back. 

"Sure." He paused. "Y'know, he still hasn't met me. How would he react if he knew his son was curled up in bed with a rebellious teddy boy?" He smirked. 

The younger boy giggled. "Might slaughter you or somethin'. Nothing too crazy." 

"Oh, that's just totally normal." John laughed along. 

"'Sides, you're not that rebellious." Paul teased. "In fact, yer just a big softie."

"Hey!" He protested. "That is so not true."

"Keep tellin' yerself that, then." John only rolled his eyes at that.   
When Paul fell silent, gazing at him with a cute grin that made John's heart race, he furrowed his brows in confusion.

"What?" He questioned with a dubious smile when Paul chuckled.

"Ya know why I dobbed you and Ringo in when you guys were in the top of the bus?"

His eyes widened in shock, and he let out a disbelieving scoff. "We were just talkin' about that the other day. Shit, I totally forgot you dobbed us in, you prick!" He whacked the younger boy playfully, and Paul giggled madly in response, albeit with a hand over his mouth in order to keep quiet. 

"'Cause I wanted to piss you off. I just wanted to see that stupid smirk of yours wiped off." He shook his head with a grin. "You seemed so cocky at first, I always thought you were those stupid teds that thought they were the best thing since Elvis and strutted around like they owned the place." 

John rolled his eyes again. "Gee, thanks." He paused. "Actually.. me too. I thought you were one of those snobby rich pricks who thought they knew everythin'."

"We really misjudged each other, didn't we?" Paul chuckled again.

"We really did." 

"We forgive each other for all the stuff we said, though, right?" The younger boy grew nervous as he spoke, and his gaze trained on his own, searching for his reaction. "Like, when we were fightin' and all that..." 

John smiled warmly at him. "Yeah." He was glad to see Paul relax at that, seemingly relieved, and he couldn't help but pull him into another kiss, smiling into it when Paul's hands carded through his hair. He could barely get used to the feeling of his lips against his own. I can't believe I can do that now. "If I didn't forgive you, I would certainly not be snogging you and lettin' you sleep in me bed, mate." 

The younger boy laughed at that. But eventually his mood grew serious, brows furrowing as he thought to himself.

"I need to make it up to George.. I feel like shit for leavin' him in the dark." Paul sighed, eyes flashing with regret. "He's me best mate since we were kids."

"Yeah, you should. George is a great lad." He agreed.

The other boy smiled at him. "He really admires you, y'know. He thinks yer so cool and funny and that. It's cute, actually."

John scoffed, somewhat sadly.   
"I'm not that cool, really. 'm just a bastard."   
He was slightly shocked when Paul connected their lips again for a brief moment before gazing at him with sincere eyes.

"You can be if you want, but.. yer not a bad person. Far from it." 

"Do you really think so?" He wanted to believe what his (boyfriend? lover? best friend? whatever the fuck) was saying, but he couldn't seem to make himself do so. 

Paul instead just mimicked John's previous words. "If I didn't then I wouldn't be snogging you and sleepin' in yer bed, would I?" He grinned when the older boy burst out laughing. His laughter caught in his throat, though, when Paul captured his lips in another fervent kiss out of nowhere, and he was pressed further into the mattress as the younger boy crawled on top of him, trapping his thighs between his knees as they continued to snog, John running his hands up his back. Eventually, they pulled away and Paul turned to kissing every inch of the auburn-haired boys' face - his nose, his eyebrows, eyelids, chin, cheeks - making him squirm and blush under the attention. 

"God, you're cute." Paul muttered into the underside of his jawline, causing John to involuntarily shiver at the feeling of his lips that had attached to the sensitive area; he let out a nervous chuckle, entwining their hands.

"Says you." He flicked the younger's nose playfully. He realised then that his glasses were about to slip off his face, but before he could adjust them, Paul plucked them from his face and slipped them onto his own, blinking a few times as he seemingly adjusted to the weird vision, obviously not improving his eyesight since he didn't need them. Something stirred in the depths of John's belly as he stared at him, wide-eyed and blushing. "Shit. You actually look really good in those." 

The raven-haired boy shook his head, putting them back on John with a tenderness that made him blush even more, nervous under such an intense gaze, feeling as if he was being scrutinized. Though he knew he wasn't.

"No.. you look the best in them." Paul eventually spoke. His cheeks grew redder out of nowhere, and he suddenly looked nervous as he laid next to John, too tired to hover above him. "When.. when you first put them on, the first time I came to your house to work on our song for that project-" his gaze flicked up to lock eyes with him. "I think that's when I first felt real attraction to you. I didn't want to face it at first, and I didn't really even know yet, but I think that was it." 

"Seriously?" John gaped. "I.. I thought they didn't look good on me." 

Paul shook his head, laughing fondly as he held onto him tighter. "Honestly, Johnny. You're a twit." He watched John for a few moments longer, seemingly thinking to himself before he leaned forward, connecting their lips gently. John smiled into it, deepening the kiss for a moment before they pulled away. "Sorry, I felt like doin' that again." Paul spoke quietly, gaze darting away in embarrassment. 

He grinned, kissing him once again (he literally couldn't stop now that he'd had a taste of it), before pressing a few butterfly kisses along his cheek, eventually reaching his ear.  
"You don't even have to ask," he whispered it into his ear, catching the shell of it between his teeth ever-so-gently before pulling away. Paul froze completely at the action, face going even redder than a tomato, and he couldn't help but laugh at how easily he could embarrass the boy. 

"Shut up! Stop laughin' at me!" Paul whined, grabbing the nearest pillow and whacking him in the face - John let out a yelp of surprise, and in retaliation he snatched a pillow of his own and hit him back, grinning as a play fight ensued; neither of them realised how close Paul was getting to the edge of the bed, though, and he then promptly slid off of it with a noise of terror, thudding loudly on the floor below. John scrambled forward, peering down at him with fear coursing through him. 

"Shit, are you okay?!" He hissed. Mimi definitely heard that thud. But the only thing he got in response was Paul giggling like a maniac as he laid on his back, hands over his mouth in order to try and be quiet, but it was too late, anyway.

"John!" Mimi called in exasperation. "Go to bed, for goodness' sake!" Thank god she didn't seem to feel the need to come back inside his room again.

"Sorry! Fell off the bed!" He yelled back in response; they both froze in silence, waiting with bated breath for a response, but when they heard nothing but a tired sigh, then distant footsteps and a door opening and shutting meaning she had gone back to her room - they both dissolved into silent laughter. 

"Oh my god. That was s- so close," Paul managed through his laughter. 

"We're such idiots." John giggled, reaching down to help the younger boy up and back into his bed, both snuggling together under the covers again. They couldn't stop giggling like schoolgirls after that - every time they crossed gazes, they would start laughing all over again, even after they had calmed down. Eventually they stopped, and Paul smiled fondly when the auburn-haired boy gaped his mouth in a yawn, exhaustion beginning to tug on both of their limbs, threatening to put them to sleep.

"Let's get some rest, eh?" Paul murmured. With that, they shared one last kiss as a goodnight, and succumbed to the inviting warmth of sleep, tangled in a loving embrace. Glad that everything had seemed to be resolved between them.

The first strains of early dawn light spilled through John's bedroom window as Paul slowly sat up, the mattress groaning in protest under the movement; he ran a hand over his face in order to try and wake himself up, the last remaining wisps of sleep whisking away in the smoky air of his room. The first thing he did was turn to gaze at John.   
The older boy was still fast asleep, mouth slightly parted as he breathed deeply, eyebrow twitching every now and then as he dreamed. Paul felt a fond smile tugging on his lips, and he ran a gentle hand through his hair, hoping he was dreaming of wonderful things. He couldn't believe what had really transpired when he decided to visit John out of the blue - he certainly didn't expect that he would feel the same way about him. His heart leapt with joy at the memory of his lips against his own; something new and exciting was blossoming between them, and Paul was determined to let it grow. 

He turned to his right to see what the time was on the small alarm clock that rested on John's desk. Five in the morning. He then reluctantly pulled the blankets off of him and got to his feet, cringing as the freezing floorboards met the warm soles of his socks. Pulling on his shoes, he prepared to leave, wishing that he didn't have to, only wanting to just stay wrapped in John's embrace, but knowing he had to anyway. He turned back to John for one last time, unable to resist pressing a gentle, loving kiss to his forehead before pulling back. It made the older boy twitch in his sleep, but he didn't wake, and he sighed softly as he looked at him. They would see each other in only a few hours back at school, anyway. Today was Friday, after all. 

"Bye, Johnny." He murmured, promptly opening up the window and crawling out to shimmy down the pipe, a practice he was beginning to get used to. 

If he looked back, he would've seen John's eyes open to watch him go and his lips curl up in a smile, for he hadn't been asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope u guys enjoyed this fluff :)) they finally b together


	25. 25 ;; ice cream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHH hi guys, i wanna say thank u guys for over 200 kudos and 180 comments like thank you !!!! it legit means so much to me that ppl like this story and are giving me feedback and that :')) like AGGi love u guys sm, thanks for sticking with me on this. heres some fluff and happy friendship times as a reward, i really just wanted to write cute shit i was in the mood for it hehe

"Goodness' sake, John. Wake up!"

"Alright, alright.."  
John grumbled as he rolled onto his side, eyes still determinedly shut tight in order to drive out the sunlight that was threatening to worm its way past his eyelids. The last wisps of his dream that he couldn't remember were whisking away from his mind, leaving him with nothing but the reality of going to school that Friday morning. His hands roamed the small lasting area of the bed that he hadn't occupied, seemingly looking for something - but when they came up empty, his eyelids flew open quickly, all previous exhaustion forgotten. He blinked, stomach sinking with disappointment when he saw that the bed was empty save for him. He had almost expected that Paul would still be in bed with him. There was still a modicum of warmth within the sheets, meaning it hadn't been that long ago when he'd left, and he rested his hand on the warm patch for a moment before slowly sitting up. He still had to go to school.  
His heart leapt in his chest with anxiety; Paul was going to be there, most likely. What were they going to do? How were they going to act? Was Paul just going to pretend that nothing had ever happened? How were they supposed to act around each other? His mouth gaped in a yawn and he stretched his back as far as he could, enjoying the satisfying crack of his spine before forcing himself out of bed, cringing when his bare feet met the cold floorboards (much like Paul had done only hours before). Were they going to tell George and Ringo? What even were they at that point? Were they friends with benefits or actual boyfriends? John hoped for the latter, but he didn't want to pressure Paul. It seemed like a new thing for him, and he didn't want to pressure him into a relationship so soon if he wasn't ready for it. So he would leave it be for a week or so, and see how it went. Paul might not even want to be with him at all. Maybe it was just a passing fancy for him.

After more 'encouragement' from Mimi, he got himself dressed and brushed his teeth, spending much more time on his appearance than he usually would, feeling compelled to - he knew what the reasoning for it was, but John refused to admit it to himself - and after about half an hour of determinedly trying to tuck the rebellious last strands into the mass of the quiff, he just gave up, staring down at himself in the mirror. He chewed on his bottom lip anxiously for a moment before taking a deep breath.

"Aye, Paul." He spoke into the mirror, forcing himself to smile and picturing that the younger boy was in front of him. "Um.. want a smoke?" He paused. "Ready for Mr Walkers' lectures?" He sighed to himself, shaking his head, realising how insane he looked. "The fuck am I doin'?" With that, he chucked his blazer over his shoulder and exited the bathroom, making his way down the stairs and into the kitchen, where Mimi was sliding eggs onto a pair of buttered toast. His stomach felt as if it was curdling like milk, and he didn't think he could even manage to eat any food. But seeing that Mimi had even poured him a cup of orange juice made him feel guilty, and he would force himself to nibble at it, for her sake.

"Thanks, Mimi." He smiled genuinely in her direction before sitting at the dinner table, beginning to eat the food. His leg bounced incessantly the entire time, feeling filled with nervous energy and unable to stop his fingers and feet from tapping.

"That's alright." She stood next to him for a few seconds, and he could feel her eyes on him. "Are you alright? You seem nervous."

"Fine, fine." He responded a little too quickly, busying himself with the food in order not to see his aunt's reaction.

"Right..." She strolled away back to the kitchen, high heels clacking against the tiles. Unable to eat any more, he carried the plate and his cup into the kitchen and placed it on the counter before slipping on his blazer. And in a spontaneous moment of affection, he kissed Mimi on the cheek and said his goodbyes, hurrying out of the house and ignoring her curious and bewildered gaze that followed him out.

His lungs ached for a cigarette as he began down the street, and he lit one up between his lips in order to calm himself, the nicotine easing his anxious nerves a little bit; he watched the smoke expel into the crisp, cold morning air, frost glistening within the grass and edging the pavement. Winter was almost here, he noted. It was only a week until November. He was glad he decided to wear a jumper with his uniform.

Eventually he reached the usual intersection of streets where he would always meet up with his friends to walk to school, and his heart hammered with trepidation when he spotted that Paul was indeed standing there with George and Ringo, the three of them chattering excitedly. He could almost see the joyful glistening of George's eyes from where he was, even without his glasses, knowing that it would be there because of Paul. It made a grin crawl across his own face, and it widened when they spotted him from the other side of the street and called out his name, Ringo waving him over. It made him happier than he ever felt before Julia died to see Paul there that morning, wearing a thick black scarf that he'd tucked his chin into, his lips pulled in a happy smile (that John had kissed now! Memories of last night echoed through his mind, making his knees grow weak). Their eyes met, and Paul's cheeks flushed even more than they were from the cold, and his gaze darted to the ground. John swallowed nervously.

"Lennon! Get over here!" George called, voice basically bursting with delight. It made John happy to see how gleeful George was, now with Paul back. He could see how truly tight knit they were. He jogged across the road and reached them quickly, taking a last puff of his cigarette before flicking it to the footpath, grinding it into the pavement with the heel of his shoe.

"Oi, oi, ladies. Gossiping about the latest fashion?" He chuckled. They all laughed at that, but he couldn't take his eyes off of a certain droopy-eyed boy that had captured his heart, who giggled into his scarf, gaze sparkling, though still refusing to look at him yet.  
"Hey, Macca." His voice shook ever so slightly with anxiety, worried about his reaction; but it dissolved immediately when Paul's gaze flickered up to him and his smile widened, though still concealed by the scarf, a knowing glint in his eyes.

"Hi." He spoke through the scarf, and John couldn't stop himself from grinning goofily, those bloody insistent butterflies chittering in his stomach once again. The urge to kiss the other boy senseless was very strong in that moment. He already missed the feeling of Paul's lips against his own.

"So.. you guys have made up, then?" George spoke up, his and Ringo's cheeky grin making them blush and look away.

"Um.. yeah." Paul answered, though his gaze fixed on John again; a shiver ran down his spine when the younger purposely brushed their shoulders together. The four of them began walking to school at this point, but John and him still couldn't take their eyes off of each other. They barely noticed their friend's curious, but bewildered gazes.

"Want a smoke?" John raised an eyebrow at him.

"Please." Paul smiled, and John handed him a cigarette, trying to hide his shaky fingertips - his breath caught in his throat when the younger boy leaned forward, gazing at him expectantly. He realised what he was doing, and he lit it up, cupping his hands around the flame to shield it from the wind. They lingered for a few seconds longer than necessary, and they continued to ignore George and Ringo's confused stares still fixed on them.

"Well, what's with you two? I thought you'd already be halfway through some rant about your broken guitar string, George." John turned to them with a chuckle.

"That was one time!" The dark-eyed boy groaned.

They continued chattering on as they walked, their friends seemingly forgetting him and Paul's strange interaction, but John couldn't focus on what anyone was saying - all he had were eyes for Paul. It seemed the other boy didn't really seem to be listening to them either, and they continued to share shy looks as they walked. John wanted more than anything to gather his hand in his, but he knew that they couldn't in public like that. All he could do was just walk near enough to him that their sides brushed every now and then, and he relished their new closeness that they'd gained since that fateful night. The question of what they were still lingered in his mind, but he tried to shove it to the side, not wanting to ask Paul yet. Well, he wanted to, but he was worried it would break the illusion that had fallen upon them and might make Paul nervous about it all again. It seemed he only had just gotten used to it, after all.  
They eventually reached their school, and they made their way into the building, glad to be out of the cold; the group went to their respective lockers, gathering their books needed for their classes, and John had gotten a sudden idea in his brain.

"Uh, lads?" He made their way to them, leaving his locker unlocked and ajar, not bothering to get his books out yet. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom. Be back in a moment." He stated those words with a firm look towards Paul, raising his eyebrows in what he hoped was an obvious enough hint - he didn't wait for any reaction, though, and just left them to go into the bathroom. A few boys were hanging about in there, but he just moved past them and sat up on the counter next to the sinks, slipping his pack of cigarettes from his pocket just to have something to fiddle with as he waited. He hoped Paul understood what he meant. He longed to kiss him again - he didn't think he could wait until they were in the safety of their bedrooms or something like that. The boys filtered out within a minute or so, and he was then alone in the bathrooms; anxiety continued to rise in his throat like bile when he continued to be alone, no Paul pushing through the door. But it wasn't long for him to wait. The raven-haired boy squeezed his way through the door, and John's breath caught in his throat as the tense silence hung in the air.

"Hi." Paul spoke eventually, cutting through it. A hint of a smirk played on the corners of his lips, and John felt a stirring in his abdomen, biting the inside of his cheek to suppress his own grin.

"That's the second time you've said hi to me today." He stated, struggling to hide a stupidly giddy giggle that was threatening to spill from his mouth. He wished he could stop acting like a dizzy bird with a crush.

"Well, all you've said so far is 'Hey, Macca.' and 'Want a smoke?', so I don't think yer all that much better." He teased, taking a few steps closer. John was reminded faintly of his birthday, sitting up on the bathroom bench and Paul in front of him. But this time, he slid off of the bench and stepped forward boldly, grinning cheekily at Paul.

"Well, I hope I don't have to say exactly what I think we should do next." His heart beat wildly with fear as he said that, scared that he'd taken a step too far by saying that, but he didn't even have time to think about it as he was shoved into the closest stall. He took a shaky breath and he clutched tightly onto Paul, kicking the door shut and fumbling to lock it - then suddenly lips were pressed against his own. He couldn't help but grin into the kiss and he snaked a hand around the back of Paul's head, his hair tickling his fingers as he was pressed uncomfortably against the wall. Paul's hands roamed his chest but eventually settled on his shoulders. He had sorely missed his touch.

"God, I missed you." Paul muttered, voicing John's thoughts as they parted, though only just; their lips still brushed a little, and he grinned at seeing the pleased glint in the younger boy's eyes.

"It's only been a few hours." The auburn-haired boy laughed, gently kissing the corner of his mouth and his jaw.

"That's too long!" He whined a little, and John secretly agreed, though he wouldn't say that out loud.  
All he did was bring Paul's lips back to his own, and they continued to snog in that bathroom stall, only keeping a little bit of a focus on the outside world in case someone walked in. He grew bold again out of nowhere, and gently pushed Paul to the closed toilet lid, settling himself in his lap as they continued to kiss. Every sense in his entire body was heightened, and he felt just as amazing as he had since they'd first kissed. He could never get quite used to the feelings of Paul actually being in his arms, but he was still just as elated from it. He couldn't believe that he'd ever landed him in the first place. It made him feel quite proud.  
They continued kissing, but suddenly they froze when the sound of the bathroom door slamming against the wall as it was flung open, and John instinctively knew what to do - he leapt up onto the toilet lid, standing on either side of Paul's legs, crouching down so his head wouldn't be visible from the top of the stall, while the younger boy kept his legs on the floor, making it look as if someone was using the stall for its actual purpose.

"-yeah, the ugly fucker." They caught the end of a sentence, and both stared at each other in dismay when they recognised that stupid, drawling voice - Kevin. There were a few laughs that echoed through the bathrooms, and they noticed there were several other kids with him from the feet scuttling around by the sinks.

"Did you see his face when you shoved him into the lockers?" A boy laughed.

"Shitted his pants, I bet." Another boy spoke.

John could see Paul's gaze darken with anger, and he grabbed his hand in order to tear his attention away from them, giving him a comforting smile. The younger eased up at that, but he still glared at the closed stall door. The gang of boys continued to chat for a bit longer, the room slowly filling with smoke that lingered like fog, giving John the idea that they'd probably come in to smoke without being told off my teachers. Eventually they'd left, and John wrenched himself out of his crouched position, letting out a soft pained noise as he tried to get the feeling back in his legs. It was a scary experience, but he was just glad it was over, and Paul seemed pretty relieved himself.  
They both dissolved into a fit of giggles, and Paul got to his feet and wrapped his arms around the older boy's neck.

"That was bloody close." John sighed, capturing the raven-haired boy's lips for a brief kiss.

"I know, right?" Paul's smile grew a bit annoyed. "We've got to go now. We'll be late for class, and George and Ringo will start pestering us with questions."

"Ugh.. for fucks' sake." The almond-eyed boy groaned. "Can't we just ditch?"

"I can't ditch any more school, Johnny.." He shook his head. "I've already taken too many days off. I need to catch up with work."

"Alright." John relented. He was caught by surprise when Paul kissed him again, only briefly; he smiled into it and gazed at him with a dopey grin. "See you at recess?"

"Sure." Paul shrugged nonchalantly. With that, they left the stall and John exited the bathrooms first, Paul lingering behind so as not to arouse suspicion. He already missed his touch again, and he wished he would stop being such a clingy, soft bastard. He can survive without him for a bit.  
George and Ringo were waiting by their lockers for them, whispering to each other eagerly - they quickly shut themselves up when John came to them, though, and they sent curious smiles his way.

"Took you a while." Ringo raised his eyebrows knowingly, grinning widely, and John gulped. He had probably figured it out already, knowing what John had told him about his feelings. George still looked bewildered, though, and he felt bad for him for a moment for keeping him in the dark.

"Oh, just some run in with Kevin." He waved them off. That was true in some sense, but not fully.  
Before he could be pressed with questions any further though, Paul left the bathroom and came up to them. His expression was a mask of calm, though the corner of his lips twitched up slightly when he made brief eye contact with John. 

"Off to class?" He raised an arched brow. 

"I guess so." Ringo answered, looking reluctant to step foot in any classroom. They all did, really. John couldn't blame them. 

For the majority of their lessons, he still could not keep Paul from his mind, very similar to the past few weeks; though instead of wondering about his absence and whether he returned his feelings, he was thinking of all the possible things they could do now - like go on secret dates to the movies or something like that, go to the chippy, go to the beach in the summer.. there were a lot of things that ran through his mind, causing his heart to leap in excitement. Would Paul even want to go on cheesy dates like that, as if they were just a normal couple dating (obviously unable to display any public affection, though, of course)? Did he only want to keep their endeavours to snogging in the privacy of their homes? It was driving him mad. He'd never thought about somebody this much than he did Paul. Already he was wanting to go on cute dates! It was strange. He'd had a few steady relationships in the past, but never did he feel so thrilled around them than he did around the raven-haired boy, wanting to create any excuse to end up in a situation where he could be near them, where they could be together. It was a little concerning, really. He got a bit worried at one point, thinking that maybe he would be rushing too quickly into it, and becoming too fast for Paul. He knew it would be better to take it slow. But he wanted to do all these things with Paul; to experience things with him. Watch his eyes light up and a shy smile to play across his face when he offered to share his chocolate with him while in the depths of a dark movie theatre - dance dorkily to some live band playing their favourite songs at a music hall, uncaring of what anyone nearby thought of them. Make up nonsense songs while they hitchhiked across Blackpool, only possessing the clothes on their backs and rucksacks that carried the few things they needed with them.

He wanted to get to know Paul. To really get to know him. Know the way he likes his eggs cooked, know what topics interested or bored him, like the study of native birds or current politics or whether he liked poetry. Whether he preferred cats or dogs. What his pet peeves were - like people chewing too loudly, or people pronouncing certain words incorrectly, or when people scraped their cutlery on their plates or bowls in an annoying way. Why do I want to know all these things so much? He wondered in slight frustration.

"I'm so fucked." He sighed aloud, forehead greeting the desk in front of him with a loud thump. He'd forgotten, though, that George was sitting beside him, both of them in art class at that moment - Ringo and Paul in other classes of their own - and he cringed slightly when his friend nudged him.

"John? What's up with ya?" He could hear the slightly cheeky tone laced in his words, meaning that if he tried to tell him to piss off, he would find as many ways as he possibly could to persist questioning him about the whole ordeal. 

"Nothin'. I'm just so bored, I wanna get the hell outta here." He lifted his head, resting it on his hand with a funny face in his direction, making him chuckle. Picking up his pen, he began to draw random looping lines in his book to occupy himself while the gangly boy continued to bombard him.

"Are you sure?" He dragged out the last syllable in a way that made John's brows furrow in irritation. "Come'ead, you can tell me."

Silence in response.

"I wonder.. does it have somethin' to do with a certain boy-" John tried to ignore the way his stomach lurched nervously at the mention. "- our arl' Paul, maybe? Or 'Macca', as you've so affectionately nicknamed him." He emphasised the word 'affectionately'. 

"Nothin's happened. We just.. made up, is all." He shrugged, trying to play it cool as best he could. 

"Whatever you say." George relented, turning back to his own work, though his eyes were seemingly trained on John's book, wide with interest, accompanied by a smug smirk; John stared at him for a moment, bewildered. He wondered why he was acting like that - but when he set his own gaze upon his workbook, he then realised exactly why.   
A sketch of Paul was beginning to take form on the corner of his paper, familiar round, expressive eyes staring back up at him. He gulped thickly, suddenly feeling as if he'd swallowed a packet of nails. He quickly slammed the book shut, glaring down at George with as much menace as he could muster within his gaze. It didn't seem to be working very well as an intimidation tactic, though, as the younger boy didn't flinch for one moment, just staring back at him with the most largest, smuggest grin ever that John swore it would tear his cheeks apart. 

"Breathe. A. Word. About this to anybody. And it is your funeral. Understand?" He muttered angrily. He could feel his cheeks pathetically warm up, and he was infinitely annoyed that he couldn't seem to scare George. That was the second time he'd drawn Paul in class, though the first time was with the boy in question right next to him.

"Don't get yer knickers in a twist, lass, alright?" He chuckled, then turning pleading. "Can I tell Ringo at least?" 

"Whatever. He already knows, anyway."

"What?" George exclaimed indignantly. "Why did you tell him first and not me as well?"

"I didn't bloody tell him, he just knows already. When doesn't he know?" John scoffed a little, though he couldn't hide the fond smile that played on his lips. "Just.. I don't know if Paul is ready yet for people to know. Might not be a good idea mention it to him yet." He twiddled his thumbs nervously. "I'm sure he'll be fine with you knowin', though."

George seemed about to reply when they were rudely interrupted.

"Mr. Lennon! Mr. Harrison!" Their art teacher placed her hands on her hips, glaring sternly down at them. "Care to share it with the rest of the class?"

They stared back at her, silent. 

"That's what I thought." With that, she went back to whatever the hell she was yammering on about. George and John exchanged a glance and a chuckle. He was kind of glad that he told George the truth. It seemed to have lifted a weight off of his shoulders; his two best friends knowing and being supportive of them made him feel a lot more comfortable. He didn't like to sneak around his friends, having to lie and pretend nothing was happening when it was. He'd done it enough times to count. Especially to himself.

It seemed lunchtime could not get there fast enough. He had only just managed to stop himself from tearing out of their maths class to greet Paul at the cafeteria. They hadn't had any classes together yet that day, but they would have music last period, all of them together. They acted pretty normal together with their friends, though, making their way through the crowded area to the section where they displayed the food, and he could see the sable-haired boy eyeing the sandwiches, then rummaging through his pockets and only coming up with a pound or so. 

"I don't have enough money for a sandwich." Paul stated sadly. An idea formed in John's head, and he felt a shy smile play along his face. He only hoped the other boy wouldn't laugh at him for being a soft bird due to what he was about to do. Gathering the last of his money from his pocket, he picked out a simple lettuce, chicken and cheese sandwich and made his way up to the counter to pay for it, ignoring Paul's searching look for a moment. After paying for it, he then shuffled up to him and held it out in front of him. 

"Um.. here." He tried an awkward smile. "I dunno what you like, but-"

"These are me favourite. Thanks, Johnny." Paul grinned, ears and cheeks going bright pink as he took it from him, fingers brushing against each other. Noted, lettuce chicken and cheese is his favourite sandwich. John thought to himself, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip. The four of them then made their way through the crowd to snag a table, and he felt his own face flame when Ringo whispered into his ear: "you're whipped, son."   
He was unable to concentrate while his friends chattered on about all kinds of things, his best friends' words stuck on a loop in his mind. He was scared that he might be right.

When they finally were able to escape the clutches of that hell called a school, Ringo enthusiastically declared that they should go to the beach - all three of the four protested at his absurd idea, but he insisted on it, saying "we don't have to bloody swim! Just walk along the sand. 'Sides, I want an ice cream." George immediately agreed on account of there being food present, but Paul still protested in confusion; "it's nearly November, for fucks' sake." John just shrugged and grinned when he was sent an incredulous look by the younger boy, willing to go along with whatever his friends wanted to do. He was just too happy that all four of them were back together again. As he felt it should be. He was willing to join in on their conversations this time, and they all debated about which current young female celebrity was the most attractive (John would argue to his deathbed that it was Brigitte Bardot. Though he was unwilling to rule out the male celebrities for himself, either, but he decided against bringing it up to his friends). Eventually they made it past the docks to the beach area, and they went up to the street to the ice creamery, picking out their flavours and walking back to the beach. John and Paul watched George eat his ice cream with amusement, and John jokingly asked him whether or not he would get a brain freeze from how fast he seemed to be consuming it. 

"How did it go with him, by the way?" John asked curiously, licking at his own chocolate ice cream. Paul turned to him in slight confusion.

"With who?"

"With George. Like.. makin' it up to him." He reminded the younger boy. Him and Paul were walking a few metres behind George and Ringo along the beach, who were laughing at some joke the other made, jogging along and around each other. They were too far away to catch what they were saying, but John smiled fondly at the way Ringo's eyes sparkled with such delight at seeing George. He needed to just get a move on and kiss him already. 

"Oh, yeah. It went alright. I have a bit of makin' up to do, though." 

"Do you wanna tell 'im about.. about, y'know?" John swallowed thickly. He didn't mention the fact that George had already worked it out of John, and that he knew about them. 

"I.. I dunno. I don't know how yet." He shrugged. "I will soon. I don't wanna lie to him." 

"Alright." He felt his stomach surge with guilt. It should've been Paul's decision to tell George. But it was too late to change any of that now.  
They strolled leisurely on the ashen grey-yellow sand, gazing at the similarly coloured, rain-laden clouds that mixed with the ivory blanket that soared over the entire sky. John guessed from their distance that they'd arrive within an hour or so. Clusters of jagged, ebony rocks marked with many strange shapes and hollows carved by centuries of saltwater scattered the land around them, looking like giant children's blocks that had been carelessly tossed after they'd gotten bored of it. The four of them kicked their shoes and socks off in order not to get sand in them and carried them in the crook of their armpits, John diligently taking Paul's when he complained about not being able to carry his along with his ice cream. He relished the way the dry sand nestled in between his toes, as well as hopping onto the rocks when they crossed them, purposely fitting his feet in the shallow pools left in them. He leapt away with a squeal when a small crab emerged from the depths of a shadowy gap between two dry rocks, seemingly untouched by any water for some time. He watched curiously as it scuttled back a metre or so, but then stood unmoving near John. 

"Paul! George, Rings- come look!" He called to them, not too loud in case he'd startle the little crab. They all hurried over eagerly, and he heard a soft gasp emanate from Paul, who crouched beside the auburn-haired boy, gazing at it with wide eyes and equally wide grin.

"Hello, little guy!" 

"What should we name it?" Ringo asked.

"Will it try to attack us?" George asked, seemingly a bit more frightened than the others. Paul laughed at his question.

"Don't be stupid." He tried to reach a hand forward, but the crab scuttled backwards, hovering right by the dark gap where it had emerged from.

"We should name it John. Its beady little eyes remind me of him." Ringo declared.

"Hey!" The boy in question protested. "I don't have beady crab eyes."

"Yes you do." His best friend retaliated.

"No I bloody don't!" 

"Yes, you do!" 

"Don't!" 

"Do!" 

"Children, children!" Paul interrupted exasperatedly. "Shut up and let's keep walking. Crouchin' here is making me knees hurt." They all left John Jr be and continued on their journey, John spinning idly in circles as he walked, still eating his ice cream.

"Hah, grandpa." George teased. "Need a cane for your bad knees, oldie?"

"I'll use said cane to bash ya over the head, git!" Paul threatened jokingly, shaking his hand in a fist. He took on an old, grumpy grandpa impression, albeit a bit of a shitty one. "Young punks, thinkin' they're hot stuff! Wasn't like this back in my day, with all this 'rock and roll' nonsense! Kids today are so sex crazed!" 

"Yeah! We just go at it like rabbits, every minute, every day!" John laughed, making an obscene gesture that made his friends burst into laughter. "It's a scandal!"

They continued joking about, but eventually John and Paul fell back behind their two friends, quieting down and just chatting amongst themselves. He couldn't stop staring at the younger boy - the way his thick, dark hair was sent every which way in the wind, becoming unruly and ruining his perfect greasy hairstyle; his eyes squinting against the onslaught, dark lashes shielding them, gaze being drawn to his mouth that continued to lick his ice cream. The back of his neck felt strangely hot at seeing that, and he decided to annoy Paul for a bit of fun to try and get his mind out of the fucking gutter.

"Can I have a taste of yours?" He asked ever-so-innocently, gesturing to the raven-haired boy's strawberry and lemon sorbet. 

"Mm.." Paul thought for a moment, then held it out to him with a tiny smile. "Sure."

He grinned cheekily, taking it from his grasp and doing exactly what he'd planned on doing - even though it made his teeth ache in pain, he took a huge bite from the ice cream, stuffing his face with it as quickly as he could; Paul immediately let out a screech of frustration, catching their friends' attention, who watched them curiously.

"John- no- NO! Fuckin' hell, you cunt! No!" He dissolved into cries of vexed laughter, trying vainly to get his ice cream back, though he eventually snatched it back only on the account that he was just a smidge taller than the other boy. "That is so not fair! You arsehole, you got me all soft and you pull this shit!"

"Catch me if you can, Macca!" He called through his own bouts of laughter, speeding off and laughing even harder when Paul chased after him, the both of them sending up showers of sand as they passed by their friends.

"And they're off!" George exclaimed in a sport radio man's voice, making Ringo giggle as they watched their friends.

John continued running as much as he could, despite the soft sand not being good terrain for it, but he slowed to a halt when he realised Paul wasn't chasing him anymore. 

"Paul?" He called, spinning on his heel to look at him. And immediately he softened when he saw the boy standing there, gazing sadly at something on the ground - his ice cream, upside down, bits of strawberry splattered in the sand. 

"I dropped it. You git, you almost ate the whole bloody thing and then you made me drop it chasin' after you!" Paul pouted angrily, glaring at him when he made his way to him.

"I'm sorry-" He smiled sheepishly. "here, have mine, love." He held out his half-eaten chocolate ice cream, and he grinned wider when Paul couldn't seem to stay mad at him, taking it with the tiniest 'thanks' that John could've mistaken it for the wind. 

"Our own Romeo and Juliet!" Ringo exclaimed when they finally reached them, grinning at them mischievously. They both ducked their heads, refusing to look at him as their cheeks burned red.

"Oh, Juliet, Juliet, let down your hair!" George flew onto one knee, holding his hands up to the sky with a dramatic pained face.

"That's Rapunzel, you idiot." John guffawed.

"Whatever, they're all about the same thing. Like, princes and princesses and forbidden romances and shit." 

"That's true. And it always has some like tragic shit in it, too, like someone dyin' or having this tragic thing happen to 'em. Like being locked up or poisoned or ridiculed." Ringo looked serious. Him and George then launched into a philosophical debate about old famous princess tales, while John and Paul just watched on, sharing looks of amusement.  
John couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this truly happy.


	26. 26 ;; adventures

John tapped his foot with slight anxiety and impatience as he stood at the front door of a particular house on Forthlin Road, hands shoved in his pockets to conceal the fact that they were fidgeting; he'd just knocked on it and now was waiting for someone to answer, heart thudding in his rib cage nervously. His lungs sent a bolt of excitement through his chest with every intake of breath, and he was glancing around the street idly as he waited. It was particularly cold that October day - though it on the very cusp of it as November was just around the corner.   
It had been a while since he'd last been at Paul's house, and it had also been a while since they had last spent time together outside of school. They were still close, of course, but different things seemed to get in the way and they ended up unable to hang out; for example, Paul's aunt Gin visiting impromptu about some family member's wedding, Mimi deciding to force John to tag along to help her run some errands, and Paul having to entertain his younger cousins for the evening while their parents had to tend to something. It was endlessly frustrating, and it was beginning to take a toll on the both of them. They barely had time to themselves, as they were only able to steal private moments in the school bathrooms or behind the footy stands. Paul wouldn't let up about needing to catch up with school, so John was unable to sway him to ditch so they could actually spend time alone, no matter how much he tried to tempt him with certain things. And he still felt unsure about where exactly they stood in their relationship, and they'd often act quite shy around each other and fumbled to say the right words.  
It was cute to see Paul flustered to John, though. He just wished that he could grow a pair and ask him where they really stood; he didn't know what Paul thought of it.   
The younger boy would sometimes get nervous, too, if they accidentally brushed shoulders while walking in public - if John said something that would be accidentally flirty or could come across as such in the presence of others, if they sat too close to each other - and he would purposely sit away, anxious eyes always searching to see if anyone had seen them, to see if they'd been taken the wrong way. It made John's insecurities run wild, though; thinking that it was all his fault, and telling him that it was because Paul really didn't like him and didn't want to be seen near someone like him. He knew it wasn't true, but those stupid voices that said otherwise would never let up.  
And there was always guilt there, too. John felt it himself. Guilt as if he'd been caught doing something fucked up. He tried to tell himself otherwise, of course, but it was so deeply-set that it was nearly impossible to overcome. He figured they probably never would fully get past it.

Their whole situation was beginning to get endlessly frustrating, and over the course of the last week of October, John grew increasingly more grumpy and began to snap at people for no reason. It wasn't unlike him to get into a mood of sorts for a while, but this had a particular reason behind it. 

He wished he just didn't have to constantly sneak around every time he wanted to be with Paul. To have to hide away from prying eyes and be unable to hold his hand or just spontaneously kiss him on the cheek or anything. Of course it was normal for any queer relationship to have to do that, but John hoped in vain that he wouldn't have to. It was exhausting and put him in a constant dismal mood. Mimi continued to pry about why John was acting so strange , but he wouldn't let up yet. George and Ringo also teased them every single second they got the chance too, and it was beginning to get a little annoying. John could still hear their stupid song echoing through his mind: "John and Paul sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!". It was funny, but infuriating at the same time. 

Now John had finally been able to get away and he had arrived on Paul's doorstep that Saturday morning, knowing that he'd be home. Paul had talked to him Friday and they had agreed to meet up for the weekend and make up for the lost time. He was even more nervous than usual, though, because he knew he would probably come across a certain person who he guessed wouldn't be very happy to see him on his doorstep, dressed in a leather jacket and jeans with a white t-shirt and black boots, along with a thick head of DA. 

Speaking of such person, it seemed that he answered the door.  
Jim blinked in slight shock at seeing him, giving him a quick once over before narrowing his eyes a little, obviously suspicious. John sent him a sheepish smile, trying to keep a cool composure.

"Hello, you must be Mr. McCartney." He almost said Jim, then quickly remembered that he probably wouldn't take well to that. 

"Who are you?" He asked bluntly, crossing his arms as he stood there; he stared at John with such scrutinising eyes that he swallowed thickly, nervous. It was as if he saw bold, black letters written on his forehead that said "TROUBLE". Which he guessed he was in the eyes of McCartney senior. And to everyone else.

"John Lennon, sir." He bit the inside of his cheek to hide a grin that was threatening to present itself. He knew that many parents weren't very fond of that name.

"Hm. John Lennon." Jim soured considerably as he spoke those words, and John wanted so badly to laugh at the disgruntled expression on his face. But, he seemingly decided not to tell him to piss off, and instead reluctantly shuffled to the side and called back into the house: "James! Come get your.. friend!" He seemed to struggle with the last word.

"Coming!" John heard Paul's faint reply, a thump sounding after before footsteps began to descend stairs. He couldn't help but grin at hearing that, and he could see that Jim was watching him from the corner of his eye. "And don't call me James, da', for the thousandth time." He sounded a little miffed at that. Within seconds Paul appeared in the hallway and he peered at John from the bottom of the stairs. John couldn't help but grin wider at the sight of him. He wished he had his glasses on, because all he could see was a blurry figure of colours from where he was.

"Hey, John. Come up." He could hear the smile in his voice, and he eagerly stepped into the house. He saw another person walk in from the kitchen, watching him curiously, and he realised that it was Mike, Paul's younger brother. He sent him a nod and an "aye", and one last thank you to Jim before he was tugged up the stairs, glad to be out of the awkward situation and away from his (boy?)friend's father's glaring looks. 

The moment Paul shut his bedroom door after them John couldn't help but let out an audible sigh of relief. He then slipped his glasses from his jacket pocket and put them on, sick of seeing just blurs of colours and vague shapes. He let his eyes adjust for a moment before he met eyes with a much more high-definition Paul McCartney.

"What are you doing here?" Paul grinned a little, furrowing his brows as he took a seat at his desk - John let his eyes wander across his bedroom, taking everything in. He'd seen it before, but not in the daylight, where everything wasn't cloaked in shadows and hard to see. It was a small, modest room, with Paul's bed in the middle that had rumpled sheets across it and his guitar on top and a dresser next to it. His wardrobe was on one end of the room, while his desk faced the window that overlooked the backyard on the other side, much like how John's faced his window, too. The walls had a pallid green paisley wallpaper, and there was a few posters of bands or other various things placed around, but not nearly as much as John's had. 

"Did you forget? I'm visitin' the love of me life, of course." He joked with a dopey grin, leaning one hand against Paul's desk as he adjusted his glasses.   
He noticed there was a workbook open on the worn out surface, blanketed in neat notes while a few textbooks sat open above it. 

"Well, apparently I have to catch up on homework that's about to be overdue, so it's not gonna be all that interestin' here." 

"Oh, that's what all those ugly textbooks are there for." He grinned, stepping away and gently removing the younger boy's guitar before letting himself fall onto his bed; it let out a loud groan of protest when he put his weight on it, and he grimaced. "Jeez, could use a new bed."

"I've had it since I was twelve." Paul chuckled, shaking his head as he turned back to his work. "Can barely fit me legs on it anymore."

"Aw, poor little kiddy McCartney!" He laughed teasingly, only laughing harder when a crumpled piece of paper was chucked in his general direction. Getting bored, he sat up and stared intently at Paul. "C'mon, let's go do somethin'."

Paul sighed, rolling his eyes before turning to look at him with a fond grin. "I can't!" 

"Please? Come'ead! Let's do somethin' fun. Let's go out somewhere. Pleaseee!" He stuck out his bottom lip, trying to plead as best as he could. "Not that I mind watchin' you work."  
He grinned triumphantly when he spotted the raven-haired boy's cheeks colouring red.

"Well, what would we do then, even if I could leave?" He turned to him with a raised brow, twirling his pen in his hand. 

"Well, we could go catch a movie! Go the chippy. Or the record shop." John got to his feet, narrowly missing tripping on Paul's guitar he'd put on the floor; he leapt away with a sheepish grin. "Oops." 

Paul sighed again. He fixed his gaze on the floor, seemingly thinking to himself. John got the sudden urge to snog the life out of him. Well, he wasn't exactly unused to urges like that.

"It does sound a little fun.."

John grinned ever so eagerly once again, taking it as a win and pausing behind Paul's chair where he was sitting, resting his hands on his shoulders.   
"Come on..." he dragged out the last word, leaning down until his nose brushed the crook of the younger boy's neck, pressing a light kiss there; just enough to be noticeable, but nothing more. He knew that would be the last straw. "I'll make it worth your while."

He almost burst out laughing when Paul froze up once again, cheeks going red - but instead he just swung around on his chair and stared up at him with a smug smirk.

"Want to get in my pants that badly, do ya?"

"I didn't say anythin' about gettin' in yer pants," John stepped away, allowing himself a cheeky smile as he spun around on his heel, pretending to examine a poster of a model of an electric guitar, seemingly just released. 

"Whatever, smarmy bastard." Paul giggled, and he heard him get to his feet. "Let's go, then." 

John spun around, gazing at him in mock surprise with mouth agape.  
"But what about the homework that desperately needs doing?"

"Shut up, or I'll change my bloody mind." Paul whacked his arm with a playful glare, and John knew he was successful in his convincing. Said revolting homework was abandoned and they snuck away out of Paul's window, climbing down the tree that John remembered climbing the time he came there to confront him. It felt like an age ago at that point. It was strange how much had changed within only a month. When they successfully made it to the ground, they ran through the backyard and around the side; they made a run for it down the street and out of sight, laughing like mad the entire way.

"Oh my god, if da' walks in and sees me gone, he'll kill me!" Paul slapped a hand to his forehead in dismay, though his eyes twinkled with delight. John grinned back at him as they slowed to a walk, having rounded the corner. 

"Don't worry." He winked, slipping two cigarettes from his cigarette packet and handing one to Paul. "We'll be back before he'll know you even left. It's time to teach you in the ways of the rebel, Macca!" He yelled at the top of his lungs as they cavorted through the streets, alive with youth and the excitement of doing typical teenager rebellious things. "It's more than you'll ever imagine!"

They then continued to stroll through the streets, and John was having endless fun entertaining Paul by stealing little things from the people passing by; his heart beat with excitement and joy when he saw the grin crawl across Paul's face, and the half-suppressed giggle as John discreetly snagged a chip from a boy's paper bag that was filled with them as he was exiting the fish and chip shop and popped it in his mouth. He regretted that, though, as the heat burnt his tongue and he made a face as he tried to swallow it quickly before it burnt his mouth any more than it had. Jaunting through the docks, John stole a piece of ice from a stall owned by a burly man that was filled with fish, displayed on beds of ice. He bit into it but promptly spat it out, complaining it tasted of raw fish. Paul laughed madly at him with a roll of his eyes, saying "what do you expect? It's a fish stall, you dolt."

They eventually rounded back the way they came, Paul beginning to worry about Jim finding out that he was gone (John called him a worry-wart for that, and he got a pinch on the arm in return). The younger boy was tempted though, by spotting someone walking by with a milkshake, and John succumbed to his cheesy romantic desires and bought a banana milkshake for him with two straws so they could share. He couldn't help but grin shyly as Paul sent him adoring looks, and they paused to sit together in an alleyway behind a dumpster so they could finish off their drink - and so they could sneak a few kisses before they had to go back out into the streets. They continued walking, not wanting their small adventure to end just yet - and so they made their way to the record shop, glad to be inside and begin to look through all the latest things.

"Damnit, this Eddie Cochran one I've wanted for ages!" Paul examined a single by said Eddie with a longing look; John watched him with a soft smile, and placed a hand on his hip briefly when he was sure no one was looking.

"I'll get it for your birthday. Yeah?" He proposed with a raise of his bushy brows.

"Really?" Paul turned to him with wide eyes before a grateful grin began to spread across his face, gaze twinkling affectionately as he looked at him. "You spoil me so, Johnny."

"Anything for you, dearie schnookums!" He drawled in a strange posh British accent, darting around the boy and mockingly fawning over him, fanning his face and making stupid gestures. Paul giggled madly at the attention, cheeks going pink.

"Honey bunches!" He fluttered his eyelashes with a curtsy pose.

"Sweetie strawberry pie!" 

"My little beloved flower!" 

They continued flipping through the displays, chattering about all the latest rock and roll songs and what were their favourites of them all, but eventually left the shop with empty hands.   
John was glad that they'd managed to steal an hour or so together, even if it was only a little while. As they jogged their way back to Paul's house, he could barely take his eyes off the raven-haired boy, enchanted by the way he looked so.. carefree. With a windswept smile on his face and gaze twinkling with laughter. So unlike what he usually looked like - always having a mask of indifference high upon his nose. It was breathtaking to see him truly devoid of all mental guards, simply just being himself. A rare sight, but becoming more and more often to see when it was just the two of them.   
They paused by the large oak tree in his backyard, and Paul leant on his knees to catch his breath, cheeks flushed with the exercise. 

"That was actually really fun." He grinned, gazing up at John through his lashes. "You're corruptin' me, Lennon." 

He grinned back.  
"It's my job."

"I could see from me da's face that he was not happy to see you at our doorstep." 

"Hah! Most parents are, really." John chuckled. "All the more pleasure taken into it." 

"He'll come around." Paul straightened, nudging his shoulder with his own. "When he sees what a great big softie you really are." 

John's cheeks went beet red, and he felt his stomach surge with embarrassment.

"I'm not a softie." He muttered, knowing in fact that he was when it came to Paul. 

"You are!" Paul dragged out the last syllable with a teasing tone, reaching to tickle his sides and laughing when the older boy wormed his way out of his grasp. 

"Stop it! God, you're such an annoying git sometimes." He huffed, feeling the tips of his ears heat up too. 

"But you love me." He grinned tauntingly, resting his hands on the other's hips. John quickly glanced around to make sure no one was peeking over the McCartney's back fence before cupping his cheek to pull him into a fervent kiss. Paul responded eagerly, the tips of his nimble fingers digging into the material of his jeans before they parted, not wanting to drag it too long in case Jim or Mike may spot them through the windows. 

"Um.." Paul began, rubbing the back of his neck in a suddenly awkward way, cheeks flushing pink. "I'll- I'll see you tonight?"

John smiled shyly, crossing his arms. "Sure. I'll come over at say, like, nine? Will your dad and brother be asleep by then?" 

"Nine-thirty would be better." He paused. "Sorry, 'm just worried that they could walk in on us or somethin'." 

"It's alright." The auburn-haired boy shrugged. 

"Okay. Well, I'll see you then, yeah?" Paul smiled at him. John couldn't help it; he pulled him into one last brief kiss, relishing the taste of banana still lingering on his tongue before pulling away with a smirk. Paul blinked for a moment, stunned, before grinning with pink cheeks. 

"Sure thing, love." 

He watched as Paul turned away and began to climb up the tree, stumbling a few times but making it to his window successfully - he could feel the words that had been lingering in his mind for the whole week beginning to work its way up his throat, and he blurted them out before he could stop it. 

"What are we?"

The round-eyed boy paused from where he stood in his bedroom, glancing around to seemingly make sure no one was watching before turning to look at him in bewilderment.   
"What d'ya mean?"

"Like- I mean, what are we?" All his confidence drained from him almost immediately, and he fiddled his fingers nervously as he stood there, feeling his throat close up in fear. "Ya know.. are we- y'know- together? Or.." He trailed off, not wanting to speak any further as he waited anxiously for the younger boy's answer.

He couldn't see his expression from where he was, but he could hear the quiver of anxiety in his voice as he spoke.   
"Uh- I.. I dunno. It's- just-"

"Just what?" He shoved his hands in his pockets. He was trying to prepare himself for the rejection that was obviously coming his way. 

Paul shrugged after a while of standing there at his window, chewing his bottom lip unsurely.  
"I like you, John. It-it's just fun, yeah?" 

It felt as if his heart was sinking into his chest.   
"Yeah." He replied monotonously, determined to hide his obvious disappointment.  
"Just fun."

Paul forced a smile.  
"Alright. I'll see you tonight." 

"See you then."

He watched as Paul pushed his bedroom window shut and disappeared out of sight, not looking back. 

Quite frankly, John didn't know whether he even wanted to see Paul that night anymore.

Well - of course he did, it was Paul, for God's sake!  
But he felt unsure about facing him after their interaction in his backyard.   
"Just fun." Those words were permanently seared in his mind ever since it fell from the younger boy's lips. Was their relationship really 'just fun'? John didn't know what to do about it. They'd only been together for a week, after all; maybe it would be foolish of him to rush into it by proposing an exclusive relationship. He tried his best to keep it within the back of his mind for the time being, though - he didn't want it to ruin the night when all he wanted to do was make the most of their time together. So he promptly snuck out of Menlove Avenue at nine-fifteen - glad that Mimi had gone to sleep early - and made it to Forthlin Road almost exactly on time.   
Paul was expecting him this time, so he didn't have to throw rocks at his window as it seemed the both of them constantly were doing when they visited each other. It was almost laughable that they never seemed to meet at each other's houses at reasonable hours of the day or through the proper means of entering them - the front door. 

"I'm gettin' a bit annoyed that we keep climbing in through each other's windows." John huffed as he pulled himself up (with the help of Paul) through the window and over the desk onto the floor, being careful not to make a loud thudding noise as his feet hit the wood. 

"Me too." Paul agreed with a sigh; his hands lingered where they were holding onto John's wrists, smiling apprehensively at him. "Um.. da's gone to bed, so's Mike." 

"Alright." John nodded. He let a tiny, scheming grin crawl across his face and tugged his arms from the raven-haired boy's grip, only to wrap them around him and press a brief kiss to his lips. He'd been longing to kiss him all day.

"Y'know, Mike would not stop pesterin' me about you at dinner earlier." Paul chuckled as John began to kick off his shoes, the pair settling (somewhat)comfortably on the younger boy's bed, John leaning against the headboard with Paul in his arms. He wished that it wasn't so damn tiny, but he was glad that it gave him an excuse to hold Paul closer in order not to let him fall off.

"Is that so?" He raised a curious eyebrow.

"Yeah. He was so impressed that I'd managed to become friends with John Lennon, but also very confused on how." The pallid-skinned boy chuckled, rolling his eyes. "Disappointing that he still doubts me."

"Yeah. That's funny because if he knew we despised each other at first.." John guffawed. "it's not like we started out so friendly."

"That's true." Paul nodded; a faraway look glazed his eyes for a moment as he stared out the window, resting his head on the older boy's chest. "I never thought that we would end up like this. I.. didn't expect that I'd ever catch feelings for you, of all people."

"Me neither." John laughed. "Like.. I really thought we'd just stay disliking each other and that was the end of it." He paused, a sudden question rising within him. He decided to just take the risk and ask instead of leaving it brewing within his mind. "Have you ever- y'know.. been attracted to any other blokes?"

The raven-haired boy didn't reply for a few minutes at first - John got worried that he'd overstepped by asking that, but eventually Paul seemed to come back to reality and he glanced up at him, looking somewhat unsure.

"Yeah.. I think a few times. But they never amounted to much, and- I was too scared of it at first so I'd try and suppress it in any way I could." He shrugged, instinctively lifting a hand to bite his nails. "When I started to become friends with you and- started to-" he sighed, pulling himself into a sitting position. John watched his every move intently. He could see from his tense voice that he was forcing to sound calm and estranged expression that he was struggling to admit it; he often prided himself of his observation skills of people (which only worked if he had his glasses on, though). 

"It's okay, Paul. I'm not judgin'." He leant forward, offering a careful but reassuring smile. 

He seemed to relax a little at that, meeting his gaze for a moment before turning back to looking out the window.  
"When I started to like you, it was so much more intense than the ones before. It wasn't just a passing interest. I guess I came a bit more to terms with it all." He turned back to John, a sudden question reflecting in his eyes. "What about you? Um.. like- how did you know?"

"Well- I've been with a few guys before." John admitted. "Only two. One was a one night stand I don't really remember and- the other was kind of just experimenting."

He noticed Paul's expression forming into one of discontent, gaze dark as he fixed it on John. He bit his lip to hide a smile; was Paul actually jealous?  
"Who? One of yer old friends?" 

"Oh, it was Stuart." John shrugged with an air of nonchalance, trying his best to keep his cheeky smile from appearing. "It was just tryin' things out, really. Stu's a pretty straight guy, if I'm honest." 

"Ah. Stu." Paul nodded absently. He was seemingly interested in his fingernails all of a sudden, refusing to look at the older boy as he examined them. John could see from where he was sitting the tightness of his muscles and the crease of his eyebrows. 

"What?" He finally let his grin pull on his lips. 

"What do you mean what?" Paul mumbled, still not looking at him. 

"What's got you suddenly grumpy?" He scooted forward on the mattress, gently resting his hands on the younger boy's shoulders. "Is someone jealous?" He dragged out the last word with a teasing tone, laughing when he shrugged him off with a pout.

"Piss off. I'm not." He crossed his arms, turning away from him.

"I'm not sure I believe ya." 

"Shut up!" Paul groaned, running a hand through his hair.

"C'mon, Macca.." John smiled softly, snaking his arms around his stomach and burying his head in the crook of his neck. He inhaled his fresh, soapy scent, indicating he'd just had a shower before John arrived. "it's okay. It's only you right now." 

He was glad that Paul relaxed in his embrace, and fumbled to spin around so they could face each other on the tiny bed. He was acting shy again, pink spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears as he grinned at the older boy. It was insanely adorable, and John couldn't help but sigh, staring with his mouth parted slightly.

"You're really cute." The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"I know," Paul joked with a stupid pose, and John rolled his eyes in response.

"Your ego could rival the size of the entire earth, you know that?" He chuckled fondly. 

"Of course, love."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys sorry for a bit of delay my mental health has been even more in the crapper than usual 💀nothing like disassociating and having nervous breakdowns every day am i rightttt
> 
> anyways hope u guys enjoyed some fluff (:


	27. 27 ;; homework

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oooh oooo h im monkey . ooga oopa booga monky

John continually rubbed at his cold, pinked nose as he lay on his side wrapped in a warm dark green jumper and thick socks with black trousers on top of Ringo's neat bed. His maths workbook was laid open in front of him, along with a textbook next to it - that belonged to George - which they were sharing. But despite being surrounded by homework, he wasn't actually doing very much of it all.  
He instead tapped his pencil against the blank paper of his book, gaze focussed on a much more appealing view in his mind.  
Paul.

The younger boy was sitting at Ringo's desk, steadily working away, completely invested in whatever they were supposed to be writing; his cheeks were flushed with the cold, too, and he was sitting cross-legged on the chair (John had teased him earlier about his strange way of sitting, though he knew he was being hypocritical when he often sat upside down on sofas) while he wrote. He would sometimes itch his nose with his middle finger like he always did, or let out a soft sigh as he adjusted his position, or mention something to Ringo who was sitting beside him, and John could not stop thinking about how that was just so insanely adorable of him, and how insanely adorable Paul was in general.  
It was a week into November at that point, and it was beginning to get colder and colder as winter was growing ever near. Frost edged all the cars and tipped the blades of grass, and often there would be mist clouding the streets in the early morning; and, of course, rain. It always seemed to be raining those days. In fact, it was right at that moment as the four friends were studying in Ringo's bedroom, hammering against the windows and the tiled roof. John liked the noise - it was calming while he worked. Although he wasn't doing much of that. He just couldn't get himself to focus. Not when Paul was just sitting there looking extremely kissable and attractive. But he refrained, not wanting to embarrass Paul by being affectionate around their friends, and also not wanting to put up with Ringo and George's constant teasing. It already continued with them just knowing about their relationship, but if they were affectionate around them they would never hear the end of it, probably.

"You've been starin' at him for the past half hour, John."

He blinked, exiting McCartney Land and returning to reality as his gaze fixed on George. He felt his cheeks flame madly at being caught staring like a lovesick idiot.

"No I haven't." He mumbled quickly, hiding his face from him and pretending to focus on work, adjusting his glasses rested on his slightly crooked nose bridge.

"You haven't even started workin' out the problems we're supposed to be doin'." His friend pointed a bony finger to the paper, and John could almost see the triumphant grin plastered over his stupid thin face.

"Shut up." He had nothing better to say than that, just rolling his eyes instead of indulging in the younger boy's antics.

George chuckled, whacking him on the back - he seemed about to say something, but they were interrupted by Paul.

"What are you two whisperin' about there?"

Their heads shot up in unison to look at him, and he let out a bemused laugh, gazing at them curiously.  
"Damn, don't look so guilty, eh?"

"Oh.. it was nothin'." George shrugged innocently, though they all could see the tiny grin that he was trying his best to suppress. He actually started to whistle as he turned back to his work, continuing working out the math problem that he was doing. John noticed Ringo watching the entire interaction with amusement but slight confusion but eventually turned back to his own books to keep working.

John sighed, letting his head fall onto his empty book after taking off his glasses, twirling them in his fingers as he squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't feel there was any point in him still trying to study - he couldn't get himself to just work out the bloody maths problems. Why do they have to use their time outside of school to do more school work? Isn't the evenings and weekends supposed to be for things that weren't about school? He didn't understand the logic.  
As he deliberated, something light hit him on the top of the head, pulling him from his thoughts and causing him to lift his head. His vision was blurry, of course, since he wasn't wearing his glasses and he put them back on, blinking as the world came back to focus.  
He was met with the sight of Paul looking at him with a hint of a smile, tilting his head slightly as if to ask "what's up?"  
He looked down to see it was a crumpled piece of paper that the raven-haired boy had thrown at him.

He turned back to Paul and answered with a roll of his eyes, making a slashing motion across his neck and pointing to his workbooks with a sigh.

The younger boy chuckled at what he meant, pointing his fingers to his head in a gun motion and making a "doosh!" noise. John giggled as he rested his chin on his hand, thinking for the thousandth time that Paul was just so fucking cute.

"Get a room, you two!" George exclaimed out of nowhere, and they all dissolved into laughter at that.

"Whatever." The raven-haired boy rolled his eyes. 

"Macca? Can you help me with me notes? I'm really shit at algebra." John grinned sheepishly, heart leaping with joy when he eagerly got to his feet and swapped places with George. He decided to take a bit of a risk and shuffled closer until their sides were touching, and he couldn't help but grin even wider when Paul responded with a shy smile. 

"Okay, so- we're mainly just revisiting how to solve x problems.." 

When they went back to school that next week, the group was in relatively high spirits. It was a nippy, frigid day as usual, although there was no rain; ivory white clouds blanketed the sky low to the ground, shrouding the buildings in the distance in mist. Everyone's clothes had begun to change up a bit - more scarves and gloves were seen, bigger coats, and usually an umbrella that most people took in case. You never knew in Liverpool. John continually rubbed his hands together, also pulling the sleeves of his jumper over them in order to warm them up. His fingertips had gone a rosy pink.  
Paul had lent him his scarf that morning as the four friends continued their usual routine of walking to school together, and the ebony-haired boy was wearing a thick dark coat to combat the harsh weather. His nose and cheeks has flushed pink like the rest of theirs had, too, and John was tempted again to kiss him. He would manage to keep his patience, though, until they'd have a moment to themselves. George was chattering to Ringo about something, and John could not help but find the looks that they sent each other sweet, albeit frustrating since they still hadn't done anything about their obviously mutual feelings. Though he was glad that everyone seemed in a good mood that Monday morning.

But it seemed that things wouldn't be going their way for much longer. 

When they entered the school building and made their way through the hallways to their lockers, they were greeted with the sight of a certain group of people that he never wanted to see again standing right in front of John's locker. They really had it out for them ever since John left the group, didn't they? It wasn't like they weren't picking on Paul or George already before all that. 

"Shit, here comes trouble." Ringo groaned, pinching his forehead with a grimace. 

Before the other three could say anything in response, Kevin - always the ringleader - spotted them and began sauntering his way over, shit-eating smirk plastered all over his stupid face. John noticed that Stu was among the group, looking distressed and slightly pissed off. 

"Well well, if it isn't the hot new couple!" He sneered as he shoved both Paul and John at the same time, causing them to stumble slightly before catching their footing. There was such venom laced in his words that it sent an ugly, horrible feeling of fear surging in the depths of his chest.

"The fuck you want, mate?" John managed to keep the fear from his voice, and he glared down the older boy from myopic eyes. 

"Piss off and find somethin' actually worthwhile to do!" George snapped.

"Shut up, spindly." Kevin hissed, and George promptly did so, standing next to Ringo with anger smouldering in his gaze.

"Little birdie heard you two in the bathroom." Kevin turned back to John and Paul, corner of his lip twitching in disgust. Oh no. John's heart picked up speed, feeling every hair on his arm stand up in horror. He can't be serious.

"Bullshit! There was nothin' to hear." Paul spat, though he could see the raw dread reflected in his wide eyes. "Yer talkin' out yer arse, there."

"Ask him, then." The dark-haired boy jabbed a thumb to someone behind him in the sniggering group of boys. They followed the direction to spot who he was talking about; John's breath caught in his throat as he stared in shock. Why? Why.. was he lying? How could he? Did he actually?-

"Stuart?" Paul gaped. 

"What?" Stu glanced at them. He looked genuinely bewildered, and his brows furrowed as he took a few steps forward to reach them. "No I didn't-"

"Now everyone knows about you two." Kevin turned back to them with his arms crossed over his chest. John glanced around; there were people gathered, watching the scene with tens of curious eyes peering at him. Peering into his head, seeing all his thoughts and his desires. Seeing what he'd done.

"What do you mean? You don't know shit! There's nothin' to know!" Paul's voice grew louder in volume, too loud to be believable, but John could barely pay any attention to him anymore. All he had were eyes for Stuart. He wanted so badly - so badly - not to believe Kevin's words. Stu would never do that to him. They were close, once. Why would he do something so horrible like that? Why the hell should he believe him, anyway? Kevin always liked to make up rumours and start shit with no reason for it. There wasn't any way that any of them had figured out about him and Paul's relationship.

"He's sayin' bullshit, John. I don't even know what he's talkin' about-" Stuart rushed over to him, eyes reflecting dismay as he gripped onto his friend's shoulder - but John couldn't bear to be near him for even one more second. He didn't know what to think at all.

"Piss off." His voice was low, strangely quiet - and with that, he stormed away. He could barely see where he was going; he was just walking blindly ahead, fists clenched at his side as he stared blankly at the ground. He could hear footsteps behind him, and he figured in the back of his mind that his friends were following after him, but he didn't pay any attention. Kevin sounded so sure about them - but he could see in Stuart's eyes the actual confusion. He seemed so genuine with his words "I don't even know what he's talking about". Was he seriously telling the truth? What reason did he have to tell those people, anyway? Did he have something against him? Was he jealous of him and Paul's relationship? That was stupid. Stuart didn't feel like that about him anymore, neither did John for him. 

"What do we do? Oh my god, what do we do?" Paul sounded almost panicked, and John surfaced to reality and watched as the younger boy paced frantically back and forth in the school parking lot, George and Ringo trying to calm him down.

"Paul, please-" The lanky boy began, looking worried, but he was dismissed.

"I can't have anyone knowin'. Me da' will find out- I can't do this." He kept running a hand through his hair, making eye contact with John to emphasise his point.

"He has no fucking proof!" 

"Yes he does!" Paul retaliated, sudden indignation sparking in his round eyes as he glared him down. It was such a similar sight to the first weeks of school, when their relationship was strained and based on despising each other. "Obviously Stuart heard us and ratted us out!" 

"He'd never rat us out!" He growled in frustration. "He's one of me closest friends."

"Well, maybe you don't know him as well as you thought you did." His voice dropped a few octaves. The boys glared each other down, only inches away and staying silent as if trying to have a conversation with just one look. But Paul's eyes darted away and focussed on something behind John in the distance. His lip curled in anger, looking even more enraged, and John spun around on his heel to see what he was looking at. He let out a sigh when he saw who it was, jogging over to them with a pained look on his face. 

Paul turned around and walked away towards where their friends were hanging back in order not to get involved, obviously not going to talk to Stuart, but John stayed where he was. 

"Mate, I swear I never said anythin'." His friend began, gazing at him with such pleading tones that John softened immediately. "I know you might think to believe Kevin, but-"

He shook his head. "How can I be sure? How do they know about us?"

Stuart blinked. "He was just talkin' out of his arse. He just wanted to stir shit up... are you guys actually?-" He furrowed his brows in confusion, gesturing between him and Paul before John cut him off again.

"None of yer business." He crossed his arms. "Just.. leave, okay, Stu? We don't need this right now." Instead of waiting for a response, he strode away. It seemed problems would just continue to fucking arise even after everything seemed to be finally okay. Why couldn't he just be left alone for once? Why does it seem problems always follow him no matter what he does?

"Have a chat with good ol' Stu?" Paul taunted vindictively when he came up to them. John let out a huff and clenched his teeth.

"Piss off. He was too genuine- I don't think he snitched. He said Kevin and the others don't even know if anythin' happened, they just wanted to start shit."

"Do you really believe that?" Paul rolled his eyes, kicking at a nearby rock.

"Guys, please can we just calm down?" Ringo got to his feet. Him and George were sitting on the curb, listening to them argue with worry. "Try not to let this become a bigger thing than it really is."

"It is a fucking big thing, Ringo!" Paul bellowed. "Jesus, they could do anythin'!' 

"They don't have any proof!" John yelled in fury.

"Fuck off!" Paul spun around, and there was a crack that echoed through the parking lot; pain spread like hot wax across his face, and he felt something warm spill across his lips as he stumbled to the ground, palms skidding on the pavement. He felt hands clutching at his shoulders, and heard Paul's pleading apologies in his ear, but all he could stare at was the blood slowly pooling in his shaky hand that he held above his nose. He clenched his teeth, letting out a strained noise as pain throbbed through his face.

"I'm sorry, shit, I'm so sorry John-" 

"John! Are you okay?" He heard George's voice too.

"Why the hell did you do that?!" Ringo got to his feet in the corner of his eye, sounding distressed as he confronted Paul.

"I'm sorry! I was so scared, I just snapped-" 

All John could think as he slowly scrambled to his feet was; how many fucking times has my nose gotten broken within the past few weeks already? He numbly shook out a cigarette from the packet in his pocket, the foil glinting in the weak light of the sun that was determined to shine through the haze of clouds above - it was stained already from his blood-covered hands he put it to his bloodied lips, lighting it up as casually as possible with a broken, streaming nose.

"The hell are you doing, John?" George came up to him, looking stressed but bewildered.

"Havin' a smoke." He grumbled. With that, he spun on his heel, relishing the sting of hot smoke invading his lungs as he began to walk away.

"Where are you going?" He heard Paul plead, jogging to catch up with him; he spun around and glared down at him, not paying one bit of attention to the way his blood was soaking the top of his jumper with a slowly spreading dark path.

"Home!" He spat. Paul froze in his spot, gazing at him with misery in those beautiful round eyes that haunted his every waking thought. He couldn't stand to look at him anymore. Everything had gone so wrong in the span of ten minutes. Just normal in the life of John Lennon.  
He turned around and made for home. He heard Paul try to pursue him in the background, but then there was shuffling and Ringo answered with "let him go, Paul. Let him go.", his voice echoing strangely in the muffled silence that had fallen over the parking lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry forthis chapter gamers dont kill me💀 i do love the angst tho


	28. 28 ;; aftermath

"Careful... it's bruising." 

John let out a soft hiss of pain after he'd pressed the pad of his index finger onto the spot where Paul's knuckles had collided with his face. He couldn't help but grin crookedly at his friend standing behind him though as they stood at the bathroom mirror in his house, examining the damage done.   
"Cruisin' for a bruisin', eh?" 

Ringo rolled his eyes.   
It was the still the same day of the whole ordeal with Kevin, but it had progressed to the evening, windy and brooding outside as the sun begun its usual journey of sinking into the depths, almost as if it was copying John. He had kept on his promise of going home after the events, and had barely even noticed the shocked stares of passersby. Seeing a teenage boy covered in his own blood with a crooked nose smoking a cigarette must have been a strange sight for regular commuters that Monday morning. Mimi hadn't been exactly tranquil when he came in through the front door and she spotted him, either - she hadn't even left for work yet and her nephew comes back after 20 minutes covered in blood and is completely apathetic to such events! She softened though, seeing how upset he was even if he was trying to hide it away, and she diligently took his bloodied jumper to wash it while he sat in the bathroom, cleaning all the blood off his hands and face and plugging up his nose to stop the bleeding. He'd put a frozen pack of peas on it to stop the swelling, too, but he knew it wouldn't stop it from bruising. He then spent most of the day in his room, strumming away idly on his guitar and playing his Elvis records on repeat while Mimi frequently checked in on him, asking if he wanted soup or a drink or a book to read until he said "just go to damn work, Mimi!" and she did just that, deciding to leave him alone. Not without a nice steaming cup of tea, though, which he greatly appreciated.   
Eventually Mimi had come back from work, and then there was another knock on his door, surprisingly. His aunt had answered it and yelled up the stairs " Richard is here!" a minute later. He'd at first been a bit unwilling to see any of his friends at the moment after what had happened, but he decided to let him in anyway and Ringo appeared at his bedroom door ten seconds later, looking apprehensive but concerned.   
They'd talked for a bit and now there they were in the bathroom, since Ringo had insisted on properly looking at it because "Me older cousin's a doctor. I know a bit, at least." 

"You should talk to him." His azure-eyed friend suddenly spoke again.

John let out a sigh, knowing exactly what he was talking about. He was getting tired of it, frankly.   
"We've talked about this already. I'm not gonna right now." He rested his hands on the edge of the sink, examining his nose once more before stepping away, not really in the mood to see it anymore. 

"If it's about him punchin' you-" 

"No, it's not about him punchin' me!" He cut him off with a frustrated clench of his jaw, but it was gone the moment it arose, leaving him just feeling deflated. "Even if it did hurt. Jesus, he can pack a punch if he wants to." He grimaced, remembering how hot and brutal the pain had felt throbbing across his face; John paused for a moment, noticing Ringo watching him seriously from the corner of his eye. He relented. "I just think we need to take a break. He didn't believe me when I tried ta tell him about Stu, and.. I have a feelin' he doesn't wanna be seen with me right now 'cause everyone probably believes what Kevin said."

He felt a hand on his shoulder. "You don't know that." He knew it was meant to be a comforting gesture, but John just gently shrugged him off. He didn't need Ringo's pitying gaze at the moment.

"I actually do, Ringo." He laughed bitterly, letting himself fall onto the closed toilet lid, feeling like he didn't have the energy to keep himself standing anymore. "You saw 'im. He was absolutely terrified. Always has been, of people findin' out about us."

Ringo stayed silent for a minute. John had been about to get up and go back to his room to continue listening to his records when he spoke up again.

"What are you gonna do?" 

The auburn-haired boy sighed, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes harshly before letting go.   
"I'll go to school anyway. I'll be expelled if I miss any more classes, and I don't give a toss what people think of me, if 'm honest."  
Only what Paul thinks, he thought sadly, though decided to keep that to himself. 

His older friend smiled at him softly. "When have you ever?" 

He grinned back at him. "Never."

They fell into a silence again, more somber this time as they thought to themselves about their situation. 

"I'm here if you need anythin', mate." Ringo leant against the flower-patterned tiles of the bathroom wall, hands in his leather jacket pockets as his eyes warmly at his best friend. John always found Ringo's eyes to be so comforting, so beautiful. He couldn't quite fathom why he'd continued to stick by John after everything. All it showed was how great of a friend Ringo really was.

He smiled back, feeling his heart give a leap of joy, something he hadn't felt in a while. He knew he could always rely on him, no matter what. He was his best friend, after all.

"Thanks, Rings."

They left the bathroom, able to fall back into their usual routine of banter and jokes as they hung out in his bedroom, listening to records and talking about everything and nothing at the same time. Finally, if only for a moment, Paul had fully disappeared from John's mind, leaving him with peace. 

John pulled his scarf closer to him as he hurried through the streets, squinting against harsh winds that tore at his cheeks, sending his coat flapping every which way and debris scudding along the pavement, dust sometimes flying into his face and making him squeeze his eyes shut, trying to rub it out. The air was strangely humid though mixed with the freezing, bitter wind, meaning that there was probably going to be a storm later on. Everyone was trying to shield themselves from the onslaught, and John was actually quite glad he had his scarf since it partially hid the large, deep mulberry bruise that clashed against his pallid skin. He had considered taking Mimi's makeup and trying to apply it to cover it up, but when he tried to it came out looking like someone had vomited something yellowy-brown on his face and he knew he didn't have the skills to try and get it right, so he absconded that idea and decided to just go with it. He was right in the fact that he didn't really give much of a shit about what the kids at school thought of him. Or most people.  
The only thing that made his heart beat fast and chest tighten with anxiety was the thought of Paul. How would they act around each other now? He didn't want their problems to get in the way of their friendship with George and Ringo, and he was determined to keep it as normal as they could in front of them. They knew what was going on, but he just didn't want to inconvenience them anymore than they already had. He kind of wished in that moment that he could listen to music at that moment as he made his way through the crowds of people going to work and to him and his friends' usual meeting spot, wanting to just drown out the incessant chattering and growls and honks of cars. 

His attention was stolen away from that, however, when he spotted who was waiting at the usual intersection. It seemed only Ringo had shown up.   
His throat closed up in fear. Oh no, not George too? He thought with dismay. Did he hate him for believing Stu and had taken Paul's side or something? Did he not want to be friends anymore?

But it seemed Ringo had read his mind as he reached him. He always had a knack of knowing what people were thinking, the bastard. 

"George was waitin' for you, too. But Paul came and dragged him ahead." Ringo reassured with a careful smile. "Smoke?" He offered, holding up his cigarette packet. John took one gladly with a thanks and lit it up, relishing the first drag as smoke stained his lungs and throat. He felt a bit more relieved at his explanation, but the fact that Paul wasn't willing to wait was even more disheartening than the idea that George might not have wanted to. For the most part, they made their trip in relative silence, mainly lost in their own thoughts; he was glad for his friend's presence, though. 

He still wondered about Paul. They were going to have to have classes together - he involuntarily grimaced at the thought of the awkwardness, of them trying to avoid each other as much as possible. Not to mention at lunch and recess, when George and Ringo would be hanging around with them. What would they do when they hung out as a group? John figured Paul would just act as if nothing was happening as he often did.   
When they finally got to school, John noticed the change immediately. The students' gazes would linger on him for a few seconds longer than usual, and they'd often stop in the middle of their conversations to stare as well. They would bend their head to whisper in their friend's ear, continuing to bare their eyes into him before quickly trying to pretend they hadn't been whispering about him, even though there wasn't any point in doing so, since practically everyone was already and it was quite obvious. He just blocked it out of his mind for the moment, not really bothering to pay any attention to them as he began to unlock his locker. It didn't matter. What did they know? They certainly didn't know him. Who he actually was, at least.

After gathering his stuff needed for English, he spun around to see Mr Martin making his way past the kids. He was about to turn away and talk to Ringo - who was still trying to get his locker open with many curses - but his teacher seemed to have spotted him and began to walk towards him. He swallowed nervously, knowing exactly what was about to happen.

"John, are you alright?" He was watching the boy with concern, gesturing vaguely to his nose. "You have quite the bruise there."

"Oh, no, 'm fine." He shrugged, trying a careful smile. "Just.. fell down the stairs."

He knew Mr Martin didn't really believe him. He was watching him with a sceptical twitch of his eyebrow, but he didn't press him any further on it. "If you need to talk about anything, I'm here, okay?" 

"Thanks, Mr Martin." He nodded uncertainly. He felt uncomfortable under those knowing sharp eyes.   
The teacher nodded and bid him goodbye before disappearing back into the crowd. 

"Yer gonna be asked questions all day about that." Ringo poked his nose with a chuckle; John shoved his hand away with a pout.

"Ow! That hurt. Dickhead." 

"Sorry." 

With that, the two friends left each other to go to their separate classes. John was continually fiddling with his books, wishing that he could just stop being so fucking nervous and face the music. He shared English with Paul but neither George nor Ringo, so they would probably end up sitting on opposite sides of the room, secretly hyper-aware of the other but pretending not to be. And sure enough, he made his way into the room and spotted said boy sitting at the row second to the front, organizing his books to prepare for the lesson. Paul looked up when he came into the room, but he looked back at his desk as quickly as he'd lifted his head - all John did was sigh and trudge past him to a spot at the very back, flopping into it and opening his workbook on the desk. It had been marked by kids scribbling on it with pens and pencils, and he traced the words (often 'JACK WAS HERE' or something of that sort) with a finger.   
The rest of the students trickled in, taking the last few places, and the teacher eventually came inside and began the lesson. But all John decided to do was just draw idle patterns in the corner of his book, too tired to do anything else. 

Eventually lightning bolts and swirls were stretched across the whole page in bold black ink, and he quickly looked up to see if the teacher had spotted he wasn't doing any work - but instead he spotted someone looking at him in his peripheral vision. He met their eyes - and was surprised to see those round, leafy green-hazel eyes staring at him. But it was gone as quickly as it came, and all he saw was the back of Paul's head as he bent over his notes. 

He sighed, letting his head thump onto the desk and squeezing his eyes shut. It was gonna be a long day.

It really had felt like too long a day - as if two days had been mashed together without any difference, or they'd been forced to stay at school for a few hours extra without them knowing. He only shared two classes with Paul that day; English and music, which the latter had been the last period. That was certainly an awkward lesson, as him, Paul, George and Ringo all shared it together, and they'd often sit at the same table while they worked. The raven-haired boy still sat with them, but he did everything in his power not to have to look at John or talk to him, and it was so annoying. Nothing could seem to stay consistent with them! One moment they could barely keep their hands off of each other, the next they didn't even look at each other. George and Ringo certainly noticed, too, and they were beginning to get frustrated with their friends' antics and their inability to work it out properly. They'd done it once already, but the both of them were pretty stubborn. If Paul wanted to be a priss and refuse to believe Stuart along with not apologising for basically breaking his bloody nose, then fine! John didn't care. It was his problem.

"Hey, guys!" George brightened once the four of them left through the school gates, and they all turned to him curiously. John rummaged through his pockets to pull out his smokes, and he lent one to George who took it with a 'thanks' before he lit it up. Paul was looking off into the distance, staying uncharacteristically silent, seemingly thinking to himself as he fiddled idly with his sleeves. 

"'s up, Geo?" Ringo raised an eyebrow as they continued to trek along away from the building. 

"We should go to the chippy! Y'know, we haven't all gone together fer ages, and I wanna get a milkshake." He took a long drag. 

"Oh! Gear. We should." Ringo nodded immediately. "I could go for some fish right about now."

But John wasn't feeling too keen on it. Not because of the food - he'd love to have chips - but the fact that Paul could possibly be there didn't make it so appealing.   
"I dunno-" He looked around, scanning his surroundings. He spotted kids from school were again watching them, whispering endlessly (he was almost tempted to tell them to stuff it and give them the finger, but decided against it). He then felt an elbow gently bump his side and he turned to see that him and Paul were standing right next to each other. They met gazes and quickly took a few steps away; John felt his cheeks flame up, and Paul's seemed to be doing the same.

"John, ya dropped yer cig!" George spoke up, holding out his half-smoked cigarette in front of him. John took it with an embarrassed 'thanks'. He'd been so caught up in how his skin fizzled with nerves when he felt Paul touching him that he didn't realise he'd dropped it. God, I'm so fucking done for. He thought with an inward groan.

"Sorry, da' wants me home for some chores." Paul gave his explanation, forcing a placid smile in George's direction - his friend obviously wasn't buying it for one second, but he seemed to decide not to push it, instead staying silent. "Maybe tomorrow?" 

"Yeah, sure." Ringo shrugged.

"Okay." With that, Paul spun around and left them without another look back. 

George sighed, but he shook it off and turned back to the remaining two.

"What about you guys?"

"Yeah, I'll come." Ringo agreed.

John paused, unsure. He felt too tired to talk to anyone at the moment, and he didn't want to put up with any questions they might have about him and Paul's situation. He just wanted to be alone for a while.  
"I don't have any money right now, and 'm just too tired. Sorry.. I'll see you guys tomorrow." 

They both were clearly disappointed, but they said their goodbyes and he left them in the street, flicking his cigarette butt to the side as he went. All he was left with was a feeling of melancholy as he trudged through the bleak, frigid streets by himself. It seemed like him and Paul always kept having problems; like he couldn't be left alone by fate, or destiny, or whatever you could call it. Not able to just have peace and quiet and have things go his way. It was unfair. After having a taste of Paul fully to himself - in the way that he longed to have him - it was even more painful to have it stripped away from him than when he was pining without knowing if he reciprocated. Was he just never going to be able to have what he wanted?

"Fuckin' hell!" The curse suddenly flew from his lips and he kicked at a nearby rock, sending it flying across the footpath and rolling uselessly into the overflowing gutter. He blinked in confusion, lifting his head to see where he'd ended up. Across the street were the looming, shiny red gates of Strawberry Fields, stained a sweet fiery colour from the slowly setting sun that casted long shadows against the still damp pavement (it had been raining earlier that day). The sun was setting earlier and earlier those days. He chuckled fondly to himself. His feet had been walking of their own accord, taking him where he wanted to go in the back of his mind. 

He made his way into the completely deserted park, glad that he'd ended up there; he made a beeline straight for his favourite spot, a cluster of low-hanging trees with a clearing in the middle where he often sat for many hours of his youth reading or playing guitar. He settled himself under a tree, leaning comfortably against the thick, wide trunk. 

John pulled a small, worn out book from the inside pocket of his coat - which he'd pulled closer to his frame to protect him from the cold - and examined it with a twinkle in his eye. Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. Always his favourite, probably always would be. He was glad he'd brought it with him. It was a source of comfort in those moments, an escape from all his problems that seemed to be following him everywhere he went. 

He opened it up, flicking through the pages to the first one. He then remembered that he was blind as a bat, and he rummaged through his pockets to retrieve his Buddy Holly glasses. Slipping them on, he began to read. 

He didn't know how long he'd been reading for, but eventually the sun began to sink, the horizon stealing his light source away - but he didn't notice, for he began to grow more and more tired. And eventually, he was out like a light, curled up beneath a tree in Strawberry Fields, book falling from his lap onto the grass below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hii hope u enjoyed this chapter out early ! ALSO unrelated but im dying my hair like turquoise blue-green tomorrow im excited !! i also went out to the art gallery in my city today bros i finally have left the house for once i am proud of myself


	29. 29 ;; lending books

John was rudely awaken from his dream-filled sleep by a crack of thunder.   
He hadn't been dreaming of much; but he remembered being inside a shower that was constantly pouring down freezing cold water on him, and it wouldn't turn off no matter how much he turned the cold knob to stop it. At first he just brushed it off, slowly returning to reality thinking it was just a dream, but he opened his eyes and was met with something that showed why he'd been dreaming of cold water.   
He was still sitting under the tree in Strawberry Fields! Pain spread up his back and arse to his neck, presumably from sitting for so long, and his limbs had gone stiff from being in such an uncomfortable position. And why he was so cold? It was storming, completely pitch black except for distant street lights distorted by the endless river of water cascading from the sky. But he wasn't paying attention to that. All his focus was on his book - he looked down at his lap to see it missing, and fumbled through the soaked grass, ignoring the freezing water that stung his fingers until he finally came upon something. He quickly ran his sleeve across the surface of his glasses in order to clear them up a bit and gaped at what he was holding in his hand.

"No, no!-" His heart sank into his feet with dread. "Fuckin' hell.."

His Alice's Adventures in Wonderland book, half-open and waterlogged to the core; he let out a horrified, dismayed noise and began in vain to shake it and wipe it on his trousers (it wasn't much help since his trousers were soaked already) to try and dry it. His childhood book, which still had his initials written on the front page to mark it his, something that he'd treasured for years and years - completely ruined and probably not suitable to read anymore. A surge of fury coursed through him and he struggled to his feet, trying not to slip on the slicked grass; his skin was soaked to the bone, and he shivered involuntarily, his clothes being detriment to him since they were as wet as he was. His vision was even blurrier than it usually was, and he hastily shoved his glasses into his pocket. They were useless to him when covered in water droplets that obscured his vision even more. 

With a muttered curse, he bolted out of there as quickly as he could after hiding his book under his soggy jacket so it wouldn't be damaged any further. Another flash of blinding white light disoriented John for a moment, causing him to stumble on a pebble as he sprinted down the gravel path. A sound like someone snapping a branch in half overthrew the steady roar of the rain, slowly fading to low rumbles as the thunder echoed through the city. I'm gonna get a fucking cold for sure! He thought in frustration. Why had he fallen asleep there? That was so stupid of him. Especially in this weather, even if it hadn't been raining when he'd fallen asleep.

He shakily scaled the water-slicked red gates of Strawberry Fields - they'd been locked hours ago and were unable to open - and landed on the other side, shoes sending up lashes of water that glinted in the street light above him. Mimi would kill him for staying out late and coming home completely soaked in water. He could almost hear her scolding voice in his ear: "you're tracking water and mud all over the house, John! I just swept the floors!". What was he going to do? He had to just figure that out as he went along. For now, all he focussed on was finding shelter. His pace picked up to a run as he tore blindly through the streets, not even really knowing where he was going - only going in the vague direction of home. Eventually he found himself jogging down a very familiar street, heart suddenly leaping with mixed anxiety and excitement. Even in the haze of rain he'd recognise it.

Forthlin Road.

He didn't really know why he'd come by this way. It was longer to go around this section of streets back to Menlove Avenue, he probably could've just continued straight and made it home faster. Well, he knew the reason in the depths of the back of his mind, but he refused to admit it aloud, of course.   
His breath was ragged now as he slowed to a pitiful dragging of his feet, rattling in his chest as he sucked in every breath. He knew exactly what it meant - he was going to be sick tomorrow. Coughing up phlegm and nose basically relegated to being a snot supplier. Damn it all!   
Thunder rumbled menacingly in the distance. He was drawing ever closer to Paul's house. His heart beat even faster with fear, worried that if Paul saw him he'd laugh at how miserable he looked or would just watch from his bedroom window, warm and dry. But something happened that he didn't quite expect.

"Jesus, John! Is that you?"

He froze, spinning around and squinting myopic eyes into the darkness. He spotted a figure standing by Paul's house, face obscured due to holding a large blue umbrella that protected him from the storm and shielding his face from the light of the street light a metre away. He was seemingly emptying something into the bins that sat at the curb. He could recognise that voice anywhere, though.

"Um. Hey. Nice weather, huh?" John joked with a weak laugh. If he was honest, he felt frozen to the bone and he couldn't stop shivering, arms wrapped around himself as if it would help warm him up somehow. He felt like he was pretty much underwater at that point, with how soaked he was. His coat and clothes hung limply from his shuddering frame, dripping constant water to the tar of the deserted road he stood on. 

"What the hell happened to ya? Don't tell me you thought it a great idea to take a dip in the docks at ten at night." Paul hurried forward, eventually reaching him as he instinctively reached out a hand to touch his arm. His hand came back wet and he cringed a little, quickly wiping his hand on his dry jeans. John could see his face now, even if it was still quite blurry - and Paul's face was contorted in concern. This wasn't how he thought it would go. His chest felt like it was expanding wider, as if he suddenly had more room to take in oxygen. 

"Of course, 'cause I fancy gettin' hypothermia." He chuckled humourlessly, pulling his arms closer in on himself. "What are you doin'?"

"Just puttin' out the rubbish before I went to bed.." Paul paused for a moment; he was seemingly thinking to himself. John waited with bated breath. "you're gonna catch yer death out here. Come on, inside." His voice hardened with determination and he took John's wrist, angling the umbrella so it would shield him too as he began to drag him back to the house.

"What?" John exclaimed in utter disbelief. "No way."

"Inside, now! 'm not about to let you trudge all the bloody way to Menlove in this weather. I'm not heartless." He noticed Paul rolling his eyes in the darkness, and the auburn-haired boy couldn't help but chuckle at that. Always stubborn, he was. 

"Okay, okay, mum! Jeez." John relented, lips pulled up in an amused smile. He could barely feel them, though, since they'd gone almost completely numb. Eventually the two boys - one completely dry and the other looking like a human otter - reached the front door. The younger peered through the window that looked into the kitchen, glad he could see a gap through the curtains, and noticed that his father Jim was busy washing the dirty plates from dinner a few hours ago, back turned to the hallway which they'd have to walk through to get to Paul's room. That was their chance. 

"Okay-" Paul turned to John and pressed a finger to his lips. After that, he slowly opened up the door, peering in one more time to check they were all clear before gesturing for John to follow. The two began to creep into the house, John shutting the door behind him softly; they paused, hiding behind the wall and peering through the archway that led to the kitchen. Jim still had his back turned to them, so they began to tiptoe as quickly as possible to get to the bottom of the stairs a few metres away. 

"James!" Jim called. They both froze, wide, scared eyes meeting, but Jim still didn't turn around, thank god, so they stayed still in their positions, John not daring to move a single muscle. There was a soft patter as his clothes continued to drip water, soaking the worn floorboards of the McCartney house.

"Yeah?" Paul gently placed the closed umbrella by the shoe rack. 

"Take out the rubbish, did you?" His dad continued to face his back to them, washing the dishes.

"Yep, I did-" Paul's words died in his throat suddenly when Mike made his way into the kitchen from the lounge room, carrying a magazine. His younger brother had spotted the two immediately, and he stared wide-eyed at John, who managed a sheepish smile and a joking salute. Paul put his finger to his lips again, making a gesture across his neck as he stared frantically at Mike. All his brother did was grin knowingly, making his way to the hallway - he muttered "sneaking people in now, are we?" to Paul as he passed (who glared with red cheeks at him in return) before ascending the stairs and disappearing out of sight.

"Okay, I'll be going up to bed now." Paul's forced his voice to sound as normal as he could. John quickly hid behind the wall out of sight in case Jim would decide to finally turn around.

"Goodnight, James." 

Taking that as a dismissal, they finally escaped up the stairs and to the safety of Paul's bedroom. John noticed with worry he'd left quite a large puddle of water in the hallway where he'd been standing. Hopefully Paul could find some acceptable excuse for it. 

"God, I hate it when he calls me James." Paul sulked irritably as he took a seat at the edge of his bed. 

"Strange that that's your first name." John furrowed his brows. He suddenly felt awkward standing there, shivering and leaving trails of water everywhere like a snail, gaze downcast and focussed on his shoes that squelched with water every time he took a step. He didn't know whether or not it was a good idea that he'd gone down Forthlin Road. He figured it probably would've been better in the long run if he refused Paul's help and just gone on back home. But.. something kept him here. A tugging in his head and heart that told him that it was right to be here, that he needed to make things right. He quickly shoved those thoughts away for a later time, finding them only frustrating in that moment. John saw a flash of white light again, hearing a roar of thunder accompanying it that was much louder than the one before. He gazed outside the window, watching the rain that collided with the glass, the sound of it hammering against the roof muffled but soothing. 

"Yeah." Paul seemed to be sharing the feeling of awkwardness, since his ears went rosy red and he rubbed the back of his neck, gaze darting around the whole room as if looking for anything to focus on other than John. "I'll, uh.. get you some dry clothes. You can't wear those ones anymore, they're too wet." With that, he turned away from the other boy and began to rummage through his wardrobe, seemingly searching for clothes. Eventually he resurfaced with black trousers, a deep green jumper and a white t-shirt. He held it out in front of John, still refusing to look at him.

"They're the biggest clothes I got."

"Thanks." John murmured, taking them from him and gently setting them on the bed; he then unveiled his destroyed book and tossed it to the bed before he began to shimmy his soaked coat off. It fell to the floor with a wed thud, and he then took off his shoes and socks. 

He could feel Paul's intense gaze soaking into his skin, similar to how the water had soaked into it just before, but he didn't return it. He only began peeling off his jumper next, before going for his school tie. His hands shook with every movement, and he could feel his cheeks flame with nervousness, stomach shuddering with butterflies as Paul continued to watch him. What the hell was going on right now? He let the tie drop to the floor where the rest of his wet clothes resided, before going for the buttons of his white collared shirt. The only thing left before he'd be shirtless. He could feel the tension rising in the room, every hair on his body standing on end, air so thick that his breath began to shallow, feeling as if he was running out of oxygen. Why the fuck was Paul still staring at him from the other side of the room, fully dressed and completely silent? It was simultaneously horribly unnerving and secretly exciting at the same time.  
He undid the second one (he never did up the first one, it was too tight on his neck and he hated it), then the third one, beginning to expose his pale chest that shone with water. 

The spell was broken, however, when there was a firm knock on the door. The pair nearly jumped out of their skin, freezing in their positions and quickly turning to the door.

"James?" It was Jim.

"D-don't come in, I'm-I'm getting changed!" Paul quickly called out. His voice was trembling, and sneaking a look at him, John saw his pupils were blown wide and his entire face had gone pink. He couldn't see much more than that in the dark.

"Okay, well, did you brush your teeth? I saw a piece of lettuce stuck between your teeth before."

Paul's expression changed to that of bewilderment, and he instinctively went to pick at his teeth to try and get it out.   
"Yeah, I'll do that." He quickly spoke. 

"Okay." There was a pause, no movement from either Paul and John nor Jim. Eventually, he spoke again. "Goodnight, son." They listened to his footsteps fading away down the stairs again. 

They both unwittingly let out a sigh of relief the moment he was gone. John grinned and let out a soft chuckle.

"What?" Paul turned to him with a furrow of his brows, looking mildly amused.

"At least ol' Jim knocks. Mimi isn't exactly a purveyor of that." 

The raven-haired boy giggled at that. John quickly slid on his glasses and scanned Paul's teeth; he spotted the piece of lettuce Jim had mentioned right away.

"There is actually lettuce, by the way." He pointed to the gap in between the two top teeth of his own. "Just there."

"Oh.. okay." Paul's cheeks went even redder and he managed to pick it out. "Was it obvious?"

John laughed again, shaking his head. "Always worryin' about cosmetic things."

"Oh, shut up. Prick." Paul huffed, crossing his arms with a petulant glare. John chuckled fondly. He wasn't able to take him very seriously when he was standing there in fuzzy blue stripy socks. 

"Nice socks, mate." He teased. "Very cool."

"Look, do you want me to toss you out into the storm again or not?" The younger boy rolled his eyes. 

"Oh, please! You're my only hope." He mockingly begged, falling onto his knees and making prayer hands at him; Paul dissolved into laughter at his usual antics.

"Whatever. Just hurry up and get changed." He straightened, making his way to the door. "I'll get some towels for you." With that, Paul left, leaving John alone in his room. He reflected back with uncertainty on the tension that had been so clearly there when he'd been undressing just moments before. What did that mean for them? Was Paul going to ever address it or would it be left unsaid?  
He continued unbuttoning his shirt. He eventually finished and slipped it off, glad to have it off and free his upper body of the cold for a moment; but he waited, wanting to dry himself off with a towel before putting the shirt on, since he'd only get that wet too if he did it straight away. 

Eventually Paul came back. He shut the door quietly after him, carrying a white fluffy towel - but it nearly slipped from his grip when his gaze fixed on John. The older boy felt his cheeks heat up, suddenly self conscious as the ebony-haired boy's eyes were obviously fixed on his bare chest. But he looked away after only a few dumbfounded seconds of staring and quickly tossed him the towel before turning away, clearly embarrassed. But John had the random urge to act on a whim, and he gripped Paul's wrist with his hand before he could move away - he was so warm compared to his cold skin, and it only made the urge to wrap him in his arms stronger - and stared at him intently. He was too tempted with the way Paul watched him.

Their gazes locked. Paul's round, wide eyes flashed with shock for a moment before softening, though still flecked with uncertainty. They slowly took a few steps closer to each other, until suddenly Paul was standing up against him, never blinking once. John's stomach swooped with delight and his heart raced at impossible speeds, thudding against his ribcage so loudly he thought Paul could probably hear it. The younger boy's gaze tore away for a moment to focus on the other's lips, and John took that as permission. He leant forward, their noses bumping slightly, before capturing his lips in a kiss.  
Jesus, how much he'd missed Paul's lips. His hands - which felt like heat packs against his cold skin - rested on his bare shoulders while John dug his fingers into his hip, towel still tossed across his arm. He couldn't believe they were kissing again. He didn't think Paul would even let him near him after their argument at the school parking lot on Monday. But, of course, it couldn't last very long. 

A particularly loud crash of thunder shook the ground a little, and they both pulled away from the kiss, startled. Their trance was broken, and Paul's deft, warm fingers left him feeling even more cold when he pulled them away. The younger boy took a step back, gaze on the ground and dark with sorrow.

"I.. we can't, John." His voice was so quiet, John almost couldn't hear it over the rain outside. "You know we can't. Not right now."

He didn't reply for a few seconds. His throat tightened with sadness, and he grimaced, turning away. "I know." His voice came out more hoarse than he'd intended, and he coughed slightly to clear it. 

"I'll get changed in the bathroom." Paul's voice hardened with resolution, sounding definite and as if he had made a decision. John kept his gaze on the ground, but listened as Paul picked out some pyjamas and moved past him to his bedroom door, promptly leaving after. He just sighed, trying to clear it from his mind as he finished getting changed into dry clothes. Paul's clothes fit strangely on his body, but they smelled so much like him - which eased his nerves and actually was a modicum of comfort for him, despite the fact that Paul was a source of stress for him at the moment. 

Paul came back into the room, dressed in a white singlet and red pyjama bottoms; his face was forcefully expressionless, and he sat down on the bed without another word. John stood a few metres away, unsure what to do with himself now. But Paul spoke first - he seemingly spotted John's book lying on the end of his bed and he tilted his head, gaze sparking in curiosity as he picked it up.

"What's this?" He grimaced at how wet it was, and he gently shook it over the floor, drops of water splashing onto the wood. 

"Um.. my Alice in Wonderland book." John began to dry his hair with his towel. "Had it since I was a kid."

Paul softened at that. He turned his attention back to it, grazing fingers over the waterlogged pages. "Was if your favourite?"

"Always was." He smiled wistfully. 

"I'm sorry." He turned back to John. "About it being ruined, I mean."

John sighed. "It's fine."

Silence hung between the two for a few seconds, only gazing at each other. The auburn-haired boy adjusted his glasses out of habit, and it seemed to snap them out of their trance.

"And.. John?"

"Yeah?" He raised his eyebrows hopefully.

"Sorry about yer nose. I.. I was just scared and I lashed out." He mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck in guilt. John sighed again.

"'s okay. I just wished you believed me about Stu."   
Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say.

"Don't." Paul's voice hardened and he saw his brows furrow, and John felt irritation spark in his throat.

"But-"

"Don't. Okay? If you've come here to try and 'convince me' that he's such a great guy and didn't rat us out, then you can piss right off back in that storm again." He got to his feet, glaring at him with a strange, serious look. "I don't want to fight right now." He deflated as he spoke those words, getting on his knees as he leant under the bed. John watched him in confusion. 

"What are you doing?" He asked, bewildered.

"Gettin' you a mattress, duh." Paul answered matter-of-factly. He did, indeed, pull out a thin, partly moth-eaten mattress that had a few blankets and pillows folded on it out from under his bed, positioning it on the floor. "Usually keep this one under me bed." He unfolded the blankets, making up the bed for John.

"Y'know, I can go-" John gestured to the door, embarrassed that Paul was going to such lengths as lending him his dry clothes and letting him stay the night in his bloody room, but he was quickly cut off.

"You really are an idiot. In this weather? No way." His gaze flickered to John, twinkling with amusement before he placed the pillows on the top and moved away.

"Thanks." John spoke softly, blinking at him gratefully. Paul only smiled back before turning away, making his way to the small bookshelf by his bed. It was seemingly completely crammed with books, as much as could fit (and a few extras stacked on top, too). He watched him as he fished through them until he picked out a certain one, which he held out to him.

"Here, take it." He gently grabbed John's hands, placing the book in his grip. "You can have it."

John looked at the cover, adjusting his glasses as he read the title. Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, apparently Paul's copy of it, worn out and obviously read many times just like his own.

"Are you serious?" He lifted his head to meet the younger boy's gaze, shocked that he would give him this.

"You've given me enough gifts already. I want you to have it." He shrugged. "I don't mind."

John grinned, wanting so badly out of the blue to kiss Paul senseless. "Um.. thanks."

Paul grinned back, obviously glad that he was happy.   
"No problem." 

With that, the two of them settled into their separate beds - Paul in his own one that was still a tad too small for him, and John in the mattress on the floor below, next to him. He pulled the blankets high to his chin, eager to warm himself up after being so cold that night from the rain. Paul switched off the dim lamp that had been lit up on the beside table before settling down. John turned to the book, flipping through its pages until he stopped it on the very first one. He saw, written in shaky black pen; "belongs to James Paul McCartney, age 9". He smiled warmly, shutting it gently before placing it on the floor beside him. 

"Better writing than I had when I was nine." He spoke up, not rolling over from where he was facing the opposite way to the bed.

"I was a little gifted child prodigy, or whatever. Accordin' to me mum." Paul joked, laughing. 

"I don't doubt it." John joked back. They both fell into silence again, but it wasn't quite as uncomfortable as the last ones. It felt more.. calm. The auburn-haired boy took off his glasses, folding them and putting them on top of the book before tucking his arms under the blankets. After a few more seconds of silence that seemed to drag out, John forced himself to speak again. "Um.. Paul?"

"Yeah?" The younger boy replied, sounding muffled as if he'd stuffed his face in a pillow.

"Goodnight." He felt anxiety rise in him again, and he tried to push it down. It was fine.

Eventually Paul replied.

"Night, John."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little bit softer cuz im sorry 😔😔hope u guys enjoy this one! had fun writing this


	30. 30 ;; sickness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ft john being sick 😔✌️

And so, a completely predictable fate befell John - he did, in fact, get sick.  
He’d slept extremely fitfully that night on the floor in Paul’s bedroom. He’d woken up about three times before five in the morning when he finally snuck out and went home, each time feeling like his throat was being clawed out by some creature and no longer able to use his nose as it was meant to be used. His head throbbed with a terrible headache, but he fell asleep effective immediately, the moment his head hit the pillow after sneaking back into the house. He’d slept deeply for a while after that, his body needing the rest, even if it was only for two hours, since he’d been awoken by Mimi as per usual for school. 

“John Winston Lennon! That's the second time in the last few weeks you've not come home at night.”   
She immediately scolded him the moment she stepped foot in his room; he felt guilt rise in his throat like bile, and he let out a soft ‘sorry’ before dissolving into a fit of coughs. She watched him for a few moments, studying him with those sharp eyes - until they softened suddenly, round with sympathy. She let out a drooping sigh and took a few steps towards him so she could place the back of her hand on his forehead. “Did you get caught in the storm?” She queried.

“Yeah. I, um.. fell asleep at Strawberry Fields.” He sat up, holding his head when it sent a bolt of pain through it, feeling as if his entire body had turned to stone. “I stayed at Ringo’s. I know I should’ve called, but it was late and we fell asleep quickly.” It was partly true, though he decided not to mention that he stayed at Paul’s. It probably wouldn’t have mattered if he said he did, since she knew who he was, but he just didn’t feel like talking about him at the moment.

“Why didn’t his parents call, then?” She furrowed her brows, obviously suspicious of his story. 

“Um.. I dunno. They probably didn’t want to bother you.” He spoke hastily, knowing that she didn’t believe him for a single second. But instead of pursuing further, all she did was move away, bony arms crossed over her chest as she seemingly thought to herself.

“Can I… stay home from school?” He decided to at least attempt to ask and see if she’d allow it. He felt definitely in no state to go to school at the moment.

“Okay, fine. You can stay home. But - on one condition.” She turned to him with a stern expression, holding up an equally stern finger. “You still need to do schoolwork. Alright?”  
He groaned inwardly. I knew she was going to say that. 

John only shrugged. “Okay.” He agreed. He did want to make it up to her anyway for scaring her once again by not coming home for the whole night. He still felt bad about that.   
After that, she gathered things he would need - tissues, water and some throat lozenges. She continued to remind him that she expects him to do homework as a compromise for letting him stay home, and all he could do was just suppress a chuckle at her behaviour that was just so typically Mimi. After that, she said her goodbyes and left, and he went straight back to bed to catch up on his missed sleep. 

He then awoke a few hours later at about ten; he peeled open exhausted eyes, sitting up and stretching languidly as he adjusted to being awake. He strangely longed for Paul’s touch in those moments as he became aware of the world around him, wishing he had his warm body curled around his and his sleeping form being the first thing he would lay eyes upon. He sorely missed those moments they'd had together in the past, and he had missed it even more when he'd fallen asleep on the floor next to Paul in his room. They had been in privacy then - why couldn't they just go back to how they were before Paul decided they shouldn't be together, but just not doing anything in public places and only in the privacy of their homes, alone together?   
He let out a frustrated sigh, coughing lightly afterwards before blowing his nose with the tissues Mimi had put on his desk. I guess I just have to respect Paul's decision. I still need to talk to Stu when I go back to school, though, and see if I could glean the truth from him if he really did lie about ratting us out to Kevin. 

He managed to force himself out of his warm, cozy bed and wrapped a blanket around his form like a cloak, shuffling to his desk where his workbooks were stacked up, ready to begin writing in. He made himself a pot of tea and settled himself at the desk, deciding he might as well just get on with the whole thing and start doing some homework. John had thankfully snagged the English homework off of Ringo the day before, though he wasn't much looking forward to it, as usual. He twirled a pen in his hand, the other curled tightly around his cup of tea, which he was waiting to cool down since it was still boiling. 

His glasses were resting upon his nose - which he'd gone to check out in the bathroom, and he noticed that the bruise was beginning to fade and go yellow, meaning it was starting to lessen a bit. His myopic hazel eyes fixed on the window that was throwing pale light across the desk; it was raining outside once again, though it was a bit lighter than last night, and the soft patter was relaxing to him. The sky was a haze of grey-ivory clouds, mist shrouding the buildings in the distance. Frost clung to every branch and leaf of the trees and the parked cars in the street. He shivered involuntarily at the sight, knowing how cold it must be outside, and how much colder it would've been if he'd gone to school as normal at eight in the morning. He knew it would only get colder in Liverpool as the weeks drew by and the streets would eventually be lined with snow.   
Eventually hunger made itself known by his stomach rumbling quietly, and he shambled down the stairs to the kitchen to cook some eggs on toast for his lunch.

He enjoyed the stillness of the house that was empty save for him, the only thing breaking the silence being the eggs sizzling on the frypan. I feel like I haven’t been able to enjoy any time by myself for the last few weeks at all. Problems keep arising, one after the other, and I feel helpless to do anything much about them. After all, what could he do about the fact that people seemed to believe what Kevin said about him and Paul? Nothing, except try to live through it. He understood where Paul’s fears were coming from; even though to the rest of the world those claims had no weight without proper proof, it was still dangerous.   
He was torn from his thoughts when there was a knock at the door. He froze in his spot, adjusting his glasses in perplexion. Was Mimi expecting someone? He certainly wasn’t. He left the eggs and peered through the hallway window to see who it was. His heart leapt with excitement when he saw it was George and Ringo, standing there in school uniform and looking a little impatient. John tried to ignore the surge of disappointment in his belly when he saw that Paul wasn’t there with them, instead opting to just shove the feelings away and open the door.

“What the hell are you guys doin’ here?” He couldn’t keep the joy from his voice, and they seemed pretty happy to see him, too; Ringo’s beryl eyes sparked with delight, and George’s lips parted in a grin that revealed his unusually shaped teeth. John let out a feeble cough as the wave of bitter wind nipped at his cheeks, and he hoped he didn’t have to stand there with the door open for much longer. He’d been having the heater blasting to try and warm the house up.

“We were worried when you didn’t show up at school, and Paul’s told us what happened.” They both barged past John as they spoke, moving further into the house - the auburn-haired boy watched them with amusement as Ringo flopped onto the couch in the lounge room and George sat on the arm of an armchair opposite. “We wanted to come visit.”

“You look barmy, mate!” George exclaimed as he examined John with his impossibly dark eyes. He huffed, rolling his eyes in response. He probably did look pretty sick. As if on cue, he sneezed loudly and quickly grabbed a nearby tissue to blow his nose, feeling positively miserable.

“Paul wouldn’t tell us how you ended up like this. Only that you were sick.” Ringo gazed at him curiously. “What happened? Are you guys still fighting about the whole ordeal?-”

“It’s nothin’.” John interrupted hastily. His best friends knew that it wasn’t nothing, obviously, but didn’t press further when the almond-eyed boy began to explain what had happened the night before. “Well, I fell asleep.. at Strawberry Fields. When I woke up, it was pourin’ like hell. I was soaked.” He paused, wondering whether he should tell them he stayed the night at Paul’s afterwards. He didn’t want them pestering further about their situation - quite frankly, he didn’t really know what was going on himself.

“What’d you do then?” George furrowed his brows. 

"Paul found me. Helped me home. That was it.” He shrugged, keeping his mouth firmly shut after that. His thoughts wandered, though, and he suddenly remembered - his eggs! “Shit,” The curse flew from his mouth and he raced to the kitchen, blanket falling from his shoulder and pooling on the floor where he’d been standing.   
Thankfully, he’d gotten there in time before they’d gotten too burnt or stuck too badly to the pan, and he scraped them off and picked the toast from the toaster, placing the eggs on top. He heard his friends follow him into the kitchen, but all he was focussed on was his food, since the pangs of hunger were only increasing now that the savoury smell filled his nostrils. 

“Nearly burnt yer eggs, did ya?” Ringo teased, grin playing on his lips. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it, ‘m a terrible cook.” He waved him off, instead just taking his plate to the dining table so he could dig into his food. George hopped up on the table beside him, swinging his legs back and forth - much like a restless child, which George still looked as such - before lighting up a cigarette. The blue-grey haze expelled from his lips into the room as the younger boy took his first drag. 

“Want a tea?” Ringo asked them, already beginning to take cups out from the cupboards above the kitchen counters. 

“Yes, please.” John replied eagerly, George nodding in agreement himself. Ringo then began boiling water in the kettle on the stove. As he continued eating his eggs on toast, he fixed his gaze intently on the younger boy, studying him.  
There was a darkness in his eyes, as if troubled, and he kept it fixed on the ground as he continued puffing away on his cigarette, legs not swinging to and fro anymore. John felt his brows furrow in concern for his friend before he nudged him somewhat playfully with his elbow.

“Oi. What’s got you frownin’ like someone pissed in your tea?” He tilted his head questioningly, hoping that a bit of humour could cheer him up. At first, he’d only sighed in response, his hand holding the cigarette dropping limply to his lap. A few stray ashes detached themselves from it and made a new home on the right knee of George’s ruffled, stained school trousers. 

“I’m fine. I just..” He trailed off, finally deciding to speak and meeting John’s attentive gaze with his own worried eyes. “I just don’t like seein’ you or Paulie so bloody mopey all the time.” He blinked sadly. “It’s frustratin’.” 

John sighed himself, forcing a tight-lipped smile in his direction.

“No need to worry about us, son. We’re big boys; we’ll figure it out.” He didn’t have much faith in his last few words. It seemed George didn’t either.  
He had no idea when things would return back to normal. 

The next day, John stayed home once again. He felt even worse than he did yesterday, ending up lying in bed for the most part and reading in between the times he’d be coughing up a lung and using up every tissue box in the house. He knew that the next two days he would begin to feel better, though, and eventually by the end of the week he figured his sickness would be pretty much gone.   
He’d been in the middle of an afternoon nap when the irritating, loud blaring of the phone ringing tore him from his sleep and he hauled himself from the enticing depths of his bed before trudging down the stairs to the phone in the hallway. He answered it with a sluggish “hello?” and was immediately met with the intrusive, clamorous yell of George. 

“Hi John! Just checkin’ to see if you’d died yet or not.”

John held the phone a few inches away from his ear, cringing at the loud noises that rang in his ears. He heard a voice he recognised as Ringo’s sounding a little further away - “if he dies, I’m gonna get his inheritance for sure.” He couldn’t help but chuckle throatily at that, and he forced his mouth to form words like it was supposed to do.

“No way are you gonna get my inheritance.” He paused, confused as he’d heard lots of background noise along with his friend’s boisterous noises. “Where you callin’ from right now?”

“From a payphone outside the chippy! We’re gettin’ lunch.” George answered merrily. John felt a pang of envy - he could certainly go for some chips right about now. “Are you drinking lots of water? Stayin’ warm? I can hear your blocked nose in yer voice.” He took on a more demanding tone, and John laughed at how motherly the younger boy sounded. 

“Yeah, thanks. Don’t need you and Mimi breathin’ down my neck.” He couldn’t help but continue to grin until his cheeks hurt. He heard Ringo talking faintly to someone else in the background, and he recognised that lilting voice answering him too. Paul was there. “Can I say hi to the others?” He queried eagerly. He wanted to hear Paul’s voice again, if only for a little bit. 

“Yeah, sure!” John heard a shuffling then a few beats of silence, then a sudden yell almost blew his eardrum out and he quickly jerked his phone holding hand well away from his face with a grimace.

“HI!” Ringo had screeched as loud as humanly possible. He heard some shuffling and then Paul’s voice joined in too, loud and overbearing. Why did they have to be so damn loud sometimes? Definitely on purpose so they could annoy him, he guessed. 

“Oi, I knew you’d get sick, idiot!” Paul sounded more jubilant than he’d heard him for a long time. It made his heart give a funny little jump and he felt his cheeks go beet red. “Are you snotting away at home?”

“Guilty as charged.” John giggled. He couldn’t help but be overwhelmingly endeared by it all, though; they really were the best friends he could ever ask for. He couldn't believe that he ever thought badly of George or Paul. 

The group talked for a bit about random things, but they eventually had to go since The Hungry George Monster was getting more and more incensed at not having his needs satisfied, so they left John alone in the house, feeling the loneliness even more intensely than before they'd called him. He wished he could just get better so he could be out with his friends, eating chips alongside them and parading through the streets of Liverpool. 

Mimi came home after work at about five, and he quickly set himself up in his room as if he'd been doing work the whole time. She'd come up to his room after making some tea and she placed a hand on his shoulder while she gave him a cup of tea.

“You better be working hard, mister.” She stared at him through narrowed eyes, but they glinted with amusement and he grinned sheepishly at her, telling her that yes, he had been working.  
She left to go downstairs after that, and John was left to his own devices once again. But it seemed he wouldn't be alone for much longer, since there was another knock on the door this time. 

He paused, glancing over his shoulder to hear Mimi’s footsteps presumably going to the door, then turned his attention back to the schoolbooks on his desk. It’s probably not for me, he figured. He left the books open on the desk and sat on his bed, grabbing his guitar on the way and beginning to pluck a few discordant strings. There was a few beats of silence, then quiet talking - before Mimi called his name up the stairs.

“John! One of your… friends is here!” She sounded slightly perturbed.  
He couldn't help but chuckle at the way she said ‘friends’. She always spoke like that about Paul or George, even Ringo too; people she considered to be too rock ‘n’ roll and too scruffy. Not proper enough for her. 

“Send ‘em up!” He called back before dissolving into a fit of coughs. Yelling wasn't the best idea for him at the moment. He wondered who it was. Was it George? Ringo? She probably would've said ‘Richard is here,’ though, since she knew him long enough. A tiny part of him was hoping it was Paul, but he didn't know whether or not he would even bother visiting after the fights they had. 

It seemed that small part of him had hoped right. There was a gentle knock on the door, and the door opened to reveal Paul standing there, in a leather jacket, trousers and a plain black t-shirt - he looked tired and a little stressed, but he managed a careful smile as he shut the door after himself. 

John’s heart leapt with a foolish exhilaration and he gently pushed his guitar to the side before his stomach dropped with anxiety. Were they going to fight again? He hated gazing at Paul there, looking so attractive as always, and unable to do anything about it - he knew how the younger boy would react to it. It was like he'd gone back in time to when he was pining for Paul unknowing of his returned feelings, but instead he knew perfectly well how the other felt, and he was still forced to stand by and pretend that they were just good friends. It was torturous. He quickly forced his turmoiled feelings as far down as he could and kept a cool demeanour, picking his guitar back up to keep playing chords on it.

“Aye, what's up?” John finally broke the silence that had fallen over the room. 

“Nothin’.” Paul shrugged. He didn't move from where he stood by his bedroom door, exhuming a nervous energy that put John at unease. He wished Paul would just relax and act normal. “Just wanted to see how you were faring.” 

Finally, Paul moved to sit at the edge of his bed; the auburn-haired boy risked a glance at him, and he saw his muscles were taut and his gaze was forcefully calm, though his fingers twirled a loose string off his trousers over and over in an anxious movement. He was surprised when the younger boy met his gaze, his own giving nothing away to how he felt. 

“Working on anythin’ new?” He nodded to John’s guitar cradled in his lap like a newborn child.   
The older boy sighed.

“Not since that song I showed you.” He paused. “Just.. haven’t been able to come up with anythin’ new lately.” 

Paul nodded understandingly.   
“May I?” He held his hand out towards him as if waiting for the guitar to placed within his grasp. John handed it over to him and settled himself deeper into his bed, exhaustion overwhelming him for a moment as he sneezed feebly. Paul's gaze flickered to him in concern, but John just waved him off as he went to blow his nose. 

Paul swung his legs up so they were in a cross-legged position on the bed and flipped the guitar upside down so he could play it left-handed, fingers already finding places on the fretboard as it was basically second nature for them. 

John watched with fascination.  
“How do you play ‘em upside down?” He furrowed his brows, bewildered.

“You just learn how to do it when yer left-handed and everythin’ else isn't.” He shrugged, gaze intent on what he was doing as he began to play a few chords in progression. “I have a restringed guitar for meself, anyroad.” 

John nodded in response, curious. He didn't think he'd ever be able to learn to play upside down; he wasn't even playing proper guitar chords before Paul had taught him how. He had been playing banjo chords, since that was the first instrument he’d learnt. 

Paul began to play a song and his attention was stolen from his thoughts, captured by his hauntingly angelic voice and the way his hands flew effortlessly across the strings as if he didn't even need to try. The song was soft-sounding, romantic, almost. Not fast and demanding like a rock n roll song. He was kind of surprised to see it come out of Paul, but his mind brought back the memory of the first day of school when he saw Paul play a song on the piano to Mr Martin, which was a melancholic and actually quite sad song.

“There were bells, on a hill..” He sung quietly, sounding nervous as if he didn't want to be too loud “I never heard them ringing,” John felt as if his lungs were lodged in his throat as he watched him, still stunned at how he could come up with such beautiful songs and be just as beautiful himself. “No, I never heard them at all.. ‘til there was you.” John let his eyes slide shut, just wanting to relish the music and Paul’s voice - unaware that Paul was watching him too. He went on for a minute or so more, until he stopped playing, the song being unfinished.

“That was really good.” John finally opened his eyes. He adjusted his glasses. “You should finish that one.”

Paul shrugged nonchalantly. “It was nothin’ much.”

John rolled his eyes.  
“God, you try and act so bloody modest all the time to hide yer ego, poncy bastard.” 

Paul laughed at that, placing the guitar down on the bed beside him, eyes twinkling with humour as they met his gaze.   
“You're really good too, y’know.” He raised his eyebrows a little as he gazed at him earnestly. “Like.. you really are.”  
John nodded, not believing it for a moment but grateful that Paul would say it in the first place.

“I know you don't believe me..” Paul placed a gentle hand on his leg - John flinched a little at the sudden touch, feeling as if a bolt of electricity shot up his spine at it. He felt instantly guilty when the younger boy retracted his hand, gaze darkening with sadness at his reaction. “But it's true.”

“Um.. thanks, mate.” John forced a smile. 

Paul nodded, forcing a smile back. 

“Anytime.”

The pair fell into an awkward silence, saying nothing for a few moments as they sat there, listening to the noise of the television wafting from downstairs that Mimi was presumably watching. John noticed Paul’s expression shifting further - lips downturned in a frown and brows furrowing as he shuffled off of the bed to stand up on the floor. John hated seeing him troubled and upset, knowing the exact reasoning for it. 

“What’s wrong?” John ventured. He figured he might as well try, even though the chance of Paul actually opening up to him was one in a million.

“Nothin’. ‘s okay.” He answered automatically.

“Bullshit.” John scoffed. “Just tell me; you know I don't mind.” He took on a softer tone, gazing at him with sincere hazel eyes. 

Paul paused in his movements - John watched with held breath as the younger boy slowly turned to look at him. His lips parted as if he was about to speak, dismal gaze meeting his own. But something changed suddenly, and his expression morphed into one of placidness. The infamous mask. John was, quite frankly, getting tired of seeing it. 

“It's nothin’. Stop pesterin’ me about it.” His voice was hard, though John detected a hint of a quiver - it was over too soon before he could say anything, however, as Paul opened up his bedroom door and began to leave. Albeit, he paused and said one last thing: “I'll see you later.” Sounding quieter and more reserved in that moment, before he took on an amused tone. “Get better soon or George will knock down yer door and make you get better himself.” Then he was gone.

John listened to his footsteps descending the stairs and the faint goodbye he sent to his aunt before the door opened and was promptly shut again. He didn't feel at all comforted by that last joke.   
All he did was let out a sigh and curl up in his bed again, legs pulled up to his chest and wrapping his arms around his shin. Why couldn't he just have Paul back? Why did the universe not want to let him have what he wanted?  
He wished that they had never even kissed or done anything at school in the first place. Then Kevin wouldn't have found out. That is, if he really did find out and Stuart was lying. But he had no idea what to really think.   
He’d made up his mind in that moment - he was going to talk to Stuart and get the truth out of him, whether the truth was what he’d want to hear or not. He just hoped it wasn't what he feared; Stuart could never do something like that to him. Right?


End file.
